


Stilinski's Little Book of Crazy

by rachtay13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gore, Hallucinations, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Panic Attacks, Post 3a, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachtay13/pseuds/rachtay13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Stiles’ experience, time gave one perspective; rational thought that one did not possess previously. However, hindsight was not productive when one royally fucked up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stilinski's Little Book of Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for more warnings.

He didn’t normally stay late after school, but he didn’t mind it today. The sun was shining, the air was crisp and cool, and nothing was currently attacking him. Stiles stepped into the late afternoon sunshine and smiled. He walked towards his Jeep and noticed someone napping against the side of it. As he stepped closer, he wondered why the kid had chosen his car out of all the ones in the school parking lot to nap on... not that he was judging, he’d woken up in some interesting places before, but -holy shit- was that blood?!

The splatter across his tire was brown with time, and the kid’s hoodie was covered in it. His veins flooded with a surge of adrenaline as he rushed over. Just as he laid his hands on the kid, the body and blood stains vanished. Stiles stared open mouthed at the ground, his hands shaking in front of him. He whirled around checking the area for any signs of what was just there, but nothing was evident. He leaned against the Jeep taking huge breaths, trying to calm the panic rising in his chest. A wave of nausea hit him and he doubled over, swallowing back the saliva pooling in his mouth.

“Scott, hey man, you got a sec?” Stiles spoke into the phone in a rush.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I just saw a dead body.”

“What? Where?”

“In the parking lot at school. It was propped up against my Jeep, but it disappeared, like it was a mirage or something.”

“It just disappeared?”

“Yeah, I mean, it looked so real. I was about to help him and then the dude just vanished. Like, what the hell? You don’t know of anything new in town that kills people and then takes their bodies after someone sees it?”

“No, man, nothing’s been going on.”

“You haven’t experienced anything yourself? What if this is a symptom of the, uh, darkness thing? Deaton didn’t give you any specifics about this shit did he? Didn’t say to expect any horror film extras to star in future hallucinations?”

Scott snorted and told him that Deaton didn’t say much of anything, but he also didn’t ask. Stiles hadn’t either; he preferred to ignore personal problems for as long as possible, meaning absolutely no talking about it. Maybe if he pushed the whole fake sacrifice thing deep enough in his subconscious the repercussions would never manifest. That was healthy right?

They ended the conversation with a promise to pay Deaton a visit within the week, sooner if there were more incidents. Stiles sighed, and then froze, glancing around in suspicion at the few cars in still in the lot. This wasn’t a trap right? His Jeep wasn’t gonna explode if he started it? He cautiously slipped the key in the ignition and turned it. He let out a sigh of relief when it turned over, sans explosion. Phew. Not dead yet.

Stiles drove home with a sense of foreboding itching at the back of his neck. He kept expecting something to attack him in the road, or the hall as he walked to his room, or from under his bed, or out his window, or in his kitchen, or- _oh my god, calm the fuck down Stiles_. _There’s nothing here_ he told himself as he pulled down a frozen dinner for one.

His dad would be back late tonight, and while he’d usually take advantage of that with some personal Stiles-on-Stiles time, he wasn’t feeling it tonight. He couldn’t compartmentalize everything, and hallucinatory/possibly-real-dead-guy didn’t want to stay out of his brain. Running over the scene again as he ate (because yes, he could still eat, nothing really stopped that drive) he tried to recall the details in case Deaton asked. Red hoodie sprinkled with black dust, face turned away with the hood up casting a shadow, pale hands, jeans, black sneakers. Nothing terribly remarkable. The blood was old, spattered on the tire, but no pool, although his hoodie looked soaked. Shaking the image from his head he couldn’t understand why his subconscious (or whatever the hell it was) decided to show him that on a perfectly good day.

Things had been going well. Really well. The crap with the durach and the alpha pack had been resolved a few weeks ago and Derek and Cora had decided to skip town, and lurky Peter had surprisingly not lurked or creeped on anyone to Stiles’ knowledge- hell, they hadn’t seen or heard from him since then.

Lydia’s red tresses popped in Stiles’ head for a brief moment. As morbidly sad as it was, perhaps Lydia knew something about the dead body he’d seen. He couldn’t really grasp how her body/death detecting power worked, but if that really was a corpse, she’d probably know.

They weren’t besties by any means, and he was not actively pursuing her even though her first thought during one of his panic attacks had been to stop it with her face on his face-and yeah that was nice- but he was a good guy and he didn’t want any pity dates. At least that’s what he told himself.

…

He trudged up to his room curious how this was his life now. Scott had only been turned… wow, almost a year ago, and now this stuff was expected. The summer had seemed so slow compared to the previous few months. He shook his head and checked his phone.

Text from Scott:

_Talked to Allison, she hasn’t seen anything. Sry bro._

Cool. It was just him getting the sacrificial short stick. Awesome.

…..

“Hey do you have the notes from yesterday?”

Stiles rifled through his papers pulling out yesterday’s lecture notes and handing them to Scott. Their study period they spent in the corner of the library, as far away from the teacher as possible. Scott was stressing about econ, but Stiles didn’t really care. He totally got an A on that circumcision paper, he doubted Finstock even read it. He tried to tell Scott as much, but he’d picked up his ‘better person’ kick again and wanted to come by his grades ‘honestly.’

Scott’s phone buzzed on the table next to him and Stiles watched him read the message. Scott’s face went from eager to disappointed in two seconds.

“Who’s it from?” Stiles asked out of politeness, sure it was Allison.

“Oh,” Scott looked up like he just remembered that Stiles was there. “Derek. I asked him about something, but he doesn’t know.”

Stiles gave him a look. “You and Derek text? Is that a thing now? When did that become a thing?”

“It’s not a thing. He messaged me a couple weeks ago, telling me that he was taking off. Since then I’ve just been filling him in on stuff.” Scott looked back down at his notes.

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, just stuff.”

“Since when do you and Derek talk about ‘stuff?’?”

“I don’t know, since a few weeks ago. It’s not a big deal okay? Can I study now?” They stared at each other for a few tense seconds before Stiles sat back in a sign of submission. Scott went back to his notes.

In true Stilinski fashion, a topic as good as this one would not be pushed off just because of a looming test, so Stiles waited all of three seconds before stealing Scott’s phone. Scott’s indignant cry was quickly shushed by the teacher and Stiles brought up the message history.

_Derek: We’re leaving. If you see Peter let me know._

_Scott: k. when will you be back?_

A few days had passed before the next conversation took place.

_Scott: Saw Peter today. Thought you might like to know._

_Derek: What did he say?_

_Scott: nothing, just saw him in the woods._

_Derek: Good_

The next bouts of conversation were short, all initiated by Scott, and the subjects varied. He asked about something with Isaac (he has issues), if Derek knew anything more about what happened with the Durach (he didn’t), and what he thought could cause hallucinations (lots of things).

“Wow, Derek’s a real talker. And so knowledgeable too.” Stiles slid the phone back over to Scott who was frowning up a storm, and resumed his reading. He looked at the words and wondered where Derek was; were he and Cora finding a new pack- a new alpha? Derek never said why he was leaving… maybe he didn’t want to be Scott’s beta. That would be a kick to the balls- being beta for a younger kid who had mostly hated you and blamed you for every fucked up thing that happened, and then saved your ass repeatedly, all while working his way towards becoming a true alpha? Yeah. Stiles winced in sympathy and took out his phone. He pulled up Derek’s contact and tapped out a message.

_Did you teach Scott how to brood? He’s getting really good at it._

He smiled to himself picturing Derek’s face back when they first became reacquainted. Derek’s almost non-expressions said everything for him; he rightfully deserved the Broodiest Werewolf of the Year award. Across from him, Scott was looking suspiciously at the phone Stiles’ hands.

“You didn’t tell me about Peter,” Stiles prompted.

“Didn’t seem important.” Scott shrugged.

“It was important enough to tell Derek.” Scott clenched his jaw but said nothing.

A reply came quickly.

_I didn’t teach Scott anything. Unless you count being a bad alpha._

Whoa, Stiles wasn’t gonna touch that one. Either it was light-hearted self-deprecation or some serious angst and regret, and he didn’t think enough time and distance had passed for it to be the former.

_Just wondering. Where are you guys anyway?_

Stiles glanced at Scott. He was staring at him.

“Who are you texting?” Scott asked.

“I figured if you could I could too. I’m sure Derek is lonely with only Cora for company.”

Scott gave him an incredulous look. “Right.” He turned back to his notes and Stiles stared open mouthed and confused at Scott’s tone.

“What do you mean-” his phone buzzed.-

_North._

_North? Like Canada? Send me some maple syrup._

_Not like Canada._

_You really suck at texting. If you don’t want me to know where you guys went that’s cool._

He waited a few seconds then added  _are you meeting up with another pack?_

_It’s called plausible deniability._

Stiles stared at his phone in confusion and then alarm bells went off in his head.

_WTF are you in trouble? Is someone after you? Do you need help? Are we in trouble??_

“What’s wrong? Stiles?”

Stiles looked up, brow furrowed. “Derek is being vague and it’s freaking me out. I think he might be on the run or something…”

Before Scott could say anything, Stiles phone buzzed again.

_No. We’re fine. You’re fine. We just need to somewhere safer for Cora than Beacon Hills._

That raised even more questions, but Scott snatched his phone before he could reply.

Scott read the texts with a furrowed brow, but handed the phone over without a word.

“What does he mean safer for Cora?”

Scott shook his head. “I guess because Cora went through the fire thing like he did, but she was also captured and contained for months, and then got super sick and almost died here? Also, I mean, I don’t know if Peter might flip out again, but he did kill Derek’s other sister. Maybe he wants to protect the one he’s got?”

“Yeah, I get that, but why did he not include himself? This place has been an unending torture chamber for him.” Stiles realized that Derek really shouldn’t ever come back. It would most likely be the worst thing he could ever possibly do.

Scott shrugged. Scowl on his face, Stiles typed ‘ _okay. Good luck. Let me know when you’re safe_.’

He didn’t really know what he meant by that, but too late now. It was sent.

_Will do._

….

Walking to his Jeep by himself, at night, kinda made him nervous. He hadn’t had any more hallucinations, and Deaton didn’t have an easy explanation for what had happened. Stiles tried to reassure himself that it wasn’t just in his head- it had to be connected to something bigger. He already had one issue that needed medication; he didn’t want to add something for psychosis, if for only that it would mess with his Adderall.

He walked completely around the Jeep to make sure he wasn’t missing out on another horror scene before getting in. He pulled out of the school parking lot and headed home. He’d stayed late for a study group, and then even later because one of the girls in the group wanted to talk to him about the premiere of a new show. He really didn’t have enough friends who were not supernatural beings. It felt nice to engage in a normal conversation and they ended up talking about video games and youtubers and scary movies and she was smiling at him a lot, so he asked for her number. He suggested they go to see Paranormal Activity when it came out, not like a date, just like, for fun or whatever and you can bring a friend or whoever, but yeah we should totally see that, I heard it was really freaky.

She just said, “Yeah, okay,” smiled, and gave him her number.

Not a bad way to end the day.

Turning onto his street, he saw the cruiser in the driveway and that his dad had left the porch light on. Aww, his dad was so great. He’d be super great if he made himself a salad instead of the hamburger helper Stiles had set out for himself.

As he opened the front door, he heard clearly and loudly, Derek Hale yell his name. It was a desperate, alarming sound, and his heart rate skyrocketed. Looking around frantically, he searched for Derek.

“Derek?” he shouted, looking inside the house. He was still holding the doorknob. He held his breath trying to hear, but that yell was echoing in his head. He’d never heard Derek sound like that-broken and urgent. His stomach clenched wondering what could have caused him to make that sound.

“Stiles?” His dad walked into the foyer, distressed expression on his face.

“Did you hear that?” He couldn’t make himself move, half-in, half-out of the doorway. He kept glancing around, sure that Derek was present.

“Hear what?” John held out his hands and listened.

They stood there in silence, waiting, eyes wide.

“You didn’t hear that?” Stiles whispered.

His dad’s eyes got impossibly wider and insistent. “Hear what?”

“I thought I heard something….”

He turned slowly and checked the street and porch again and backed slowly into the house. He closed the door and locked it, slumping against it. He focused on his breath, tried to slow his heart. He pulled out his phone and dialed Derek’s number.

His dad stayed rooted to the spot, concerned.

It rang twice and then a female voice picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, is this Cora?”

“Stiles? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yeah, just.. uh, is Derek with you?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his hand over his face.

“Yeah, he’s just in the other room.” His air rushed out all at once. “Do you need him?”

“Huh… uh.. can I just talk to him for a sec?”

“Hold on.” Stiles heard their muffled words and then Derek was on the line and Stiles slid down the door.

“Stiles?”

He couldn’t force himself to speak. The tightness in his chest was slowly fading, only to be replaced by a bubbling lightness. He laughed and quickly covered his mouth. Hysteria did not sound good on anyone.

“Stiles are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good. Fuu- uudge,” he breathed out, glancing at his dad- who was not amused. “Sorry, I just had something really weird happen and this sounds really stupid, but I thought you were here, and I just had to reassure myself that you weren’t and that I’m just going crazy.”

“You’re not going crazy.”

How did he say that with such conviction?

“Well, okay, but you’re not exactly a good judge on that are you?”

Oh, shit. He cringed.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about, oh my god, I did not just call you to insult you, I’m gonna go now because you’re obviously not here or anywhere near here and I’m sorry, okay, talk to you later.” He hung up before Derek could say anything in return.

His head hit the door and he stared up forlornly at his dad.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You just witnessed me having an auditory hallucination.” He gave his dad a small smile. “Did you make dinner?”

…..

Once his dad was filled in on the seeing and hearing stuff, he collapsed on his bed and texted Scott about it. Scott was sympathetic but didn’t have anything constructive to say.

Derek hadn’t texted or called but Stiles couldn’t help but feel really weird about the whole incident earlier. They hadn’t talked at all since a few days ago in the library, but Derek had been on his mind more often. Stray thoughts and musings about what he might be doing, where he and Cora were heading, were they fighting at all like siblings do? They had spent so many years apart, Stiles wondered if they really knew each other anymore. Did they ever find each other annoying? Tease each other? Play fight?

Where would Cora be safe? Did they have connections up north, wherever that was? Hopefully they could find somewhere they could get some rest. God, Stiles was exhausted. Having an almost-panic attack drained him.

After slipping into bed, he texted Derek.

_Sorry about earlier. Had a little episode. I’ll try not to freak out on you again._

_It’s fine. Are you okay?_

Stiles warmed at the thought that Derek was even slightly concerned.

_Yeah. Thanks. :)_

_No problem._

……

Stiles woke from a dream filled with red, smoke, and dust.

Stiles slowly realized why he had woken. Someone was sitting on his bed. He kept his eyes closed, noticing it wasn’t yet light outside. His dad must have an early shift. He rolled over ready to tell his dad to have a good day, but no one was there.

He stared at the empty room, feeling tingly all over, tears pricking at his eyes.

He squeezed them shut and just breathed.

…..

He woke with his alarm feeling groggy. And slightly pissed. He officially hated whatever was going on with him and the ‘darkness’ thing. He resolved to talk to Lydia again today.

The first time hadn’t gone so great, but that was mostly due to the company. Idiot twin boy wouldn’t leave her alone, wrapping his arms around her and whispering in her ear while she was very politely trying to listen to Stiles. When she started paying more attention to what he was doing with his hand on her stomach, Stiles threw up his hands and walked away.

Today would be different.

“Hey, Lydia.” He had caught her after the last class at her locker. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“What’s up?” She gave him about a quarter of her attention. He hadn’t really come to expect more.

“What do you know about hallucinations?”

She froze and her nostrils flared. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh.. I just, I’ve been having them.”

She blinked, closed her locker and said, “Follow me.”

Once they were in an empty classroom, she turned to him and said very solemnly, “What are you seeing?”

He took a deep breath and told her what had been happening. She listened attentively, focused on his eyes, despite his flailing hands and pacing.

“So, do you think this is a symptom of the sacrifice, or…” He couldn’t voice what the ‘or’ was.

She sighed and pressed her lips together. “I don’t know. There isn’t a pattern yet, no sort of theme to them, except they scare you.”

He winced at that, but it wasn’t untrue.

“What should I do?”

Lydia stared at him for a long moment. She seemed to reach a decision, nodding her head once.

“You need to write all of this down. Like, a log book. That way we can research it better. What have you found so far?”

“That I’m crazy or I’m under a spell or seriously ill. Preferably, I’d like it to be a symptom of the nemeton thing.”

She looked at him in a way he’d never seen before. Like she felt really and truly sorry for him. It was a weird look on Lydia Martin. She’d been doing that a lot lately- making new faces, showing new sides to herself. It was strange seeing Lydia as such a different person than he’d known most of his life. This werewolf stuff seemed to have really changed her. Weirdly, Stiles wasn’t more or less attracted to her, but he did feel a sense of… kinship with her. Like him, she was a part of it all, but on the edges. 

“You’re not crazy Stiles.”

“Why do people keep saying that like they know?? I could be totally crazy pants, and it’s just now manifesting itself. People descend into madness, it’s not an overnight thing, maybe this is just the start of my spiral. Today it’s hallucinations, tomorrow I’m talking to an imaginary friend, or the walls, or animals, and next week I’m wandering around town twitching and shouting randomly. You don’t know! It could happen.” He stopped and hugged himself, realizing just how loudly he’d begun shouting.

Lydia had crossed her arms and was watching him, waiting for him to finish.

“You’re not crazy. Chill out. Go hang out with Scott. Do normal stuff. Write down the weird … things that happen and then put them out of your head. It won’t help to dwell on it. Okay?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, that uh, I can do that.”

“Good.” She nodded at him once and walked out the door. He was about to follow, when she came back in.

“Thank you for coming to me about this. I hope I can help,” she stated stiffly, looking at his chest.

“Yeah, no, thank you, it’s good to have someone to talk to. Thanks Lydia.”

She squeezed his forearm and looked into his eyes. “Don’t let anyone tell you you’re crazy. We’ll figure this out.” As she took her hand back, she grazed the back of his hand. Her eyes widened and she gave a full body twitch. Just as quickly, she recovered and ignored the look Stiles gave her. She whipped her hair as she walked back out.

He rubbed his hands over his face, and tried to shake out the tingling in his arm where she had touched.

….

Hanging out with Scott was easy. Keeping his mind off weird stuff was not. Especially when it _kept happening_. He and Scott were playing on his Xbox in his room after school. At first he thought he was hearing something from the game, but driving cars didn’t usually include the sounds of gurgling and choking. He paused the game, his fingers slipping over the buttons.

The sound stopped.

“Did you hear that?”

Scott stared at him, listening, and shook his head. “What do you hear?” he whispered.

Still on alert, he murmured that it sounded like someone was choking. He waited a few more beats before sighing and resuming the game. He stayed wary for the rest of the game, but was dutiful in recording the incident in a little notebook he picked up. He was thinking of titling it “Proof of S. Stilinski’s Mental Illness or Supernatural Malady,” or possibly, “Stiles’ Little Book of Crazy.”

He heard his dad come in and ushered Scott downstairs to see what to do for dinner. As he walked into the kitchen he realized that was not his father.

By the table, someone Stiles’ height and build stood, head hanging low, red hood over his face, arms limp by his sides. Stiles just _knew,_ knew right then what he was seeing was not real. One more second of staring and he realized that the someone wasn’t standing; they were hanging, slightly swaying back and forth. The toes of the black sneakers dragged across the floor. The hoodie was dotted with black dust, dirty and stained. The overwhelming smell of gasoline and burning flesh choked him. Blood rushed in Stiles’ ears as he recognized that red hoodie -the first not-real kid had been wearing it, but it was HIS hoodie. His jeans. His sneakers.

Was that him?

…

He didn’t remember passing out. And no, he didn’t _faint_. He passed out. Yes, there’s a difference.

He woke to Scott yelling his name.

“Dude, are you okay? You just went down. I wasn’t expecting it and so I didn’t catch you and I think you hit your head.” Scott looked at him with his big brown eyes, pleading with him for forgiveness. “Do you have a concussion?”

Stiles groaned, scrunching up his face in pain. He quickly recalled why he’d collapsed. Alarmed, he looked into the kitchen. Empty. His head fell back to the floor and he winced. Definitely gonna have a bump.

“Ug. I saw the dead guy again. And by dead guy, I mean me. I was the dead guy.” He groaned again and pressed his palms to his eyes. “Oh my god, seeing myself dead is literally going to kill me. This shit has to stop.” He rolled to his side and then to sitting, riding out the head rush.

Scott stared in concern. “What can I do, what do you need?”

“Uggg…. Um.. can we hang out in the living room? I don’t think I want to go near the kitchen right now.”

“Yeah man.” Scott helped him to the couch and they watched something mindless just for the noise. He wrote in the shortest way possible what he saw in his notebook-of-decidedly-batshit, and wondered how he was going to ever wear his favorite hoodie again.

“Okay, so… do you wanna talk about it?”

Stiles wondered if he could talk about it. Maybe if he stayed away from what the actual images was and just analyzed it…

“Yeah… so, not-real dead-me.. why am I seeing myself dead? I guess that first one was me too… But there wasn’t blood this time. Why am I seeing different versions of dead me??”

Scott looked deep in thought but offered no help.

“Am I being haunted? Is a ghost following me or something?”

Scott screwed up his face and scoffed. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Stiles gave him his best bitch face. “Seriously dude? It’s either that or I’m cray cray. Which do you prefer?”

Scott shook his head. “It’s not a ghost and you’re not crazy. There’s gotta be another explanation.”

Stiles dropped his head back on the couch in exasperation.

“Why do people keep saying that?” He sighed.

“Listen, I know you feel like you’re crazy, but you’re not. We’ve seen some pretty crazy shit, I’m sure this is happening for a good reason.”

“Or a bad reason.”

….

His phone buzzed on his bed next to him. He stared morosely up at the ceiling and contemplated not looking at it. It was either Scott telling him he was home and to chill out- seriously dude, you’ll be fine- or it was his dad telling him he’d be home soon. Or that he might _not_ be home soon…

With that motivation he opened the message.

Derek.

_Has Peter been talking to you?_

Stiles frowned.

_No. I haven’t seen Peter in almost a month. Why?_

_Good._

_Good? What’s going on? Why would Peter be talking to me?_

_Derek?_

He held his phone to his chest waiting for a response. He really hated talking about Peter.  It always left him off-balance, like he was one step behind. He trusted Peter about as far as he could throw him, and being that he wasn’t a werewolf he probably wouldn’t be able to throw him at all, much less pick him up.

His phone was blank. Nothing. He didn’t want to think of the implications behind Derek’s question, but his stupid brain latched onto anything that wasn’t his own problem and ran like a gazelle. Was Peter contacting Derek? Threatening him? Is that why they left? Was Peter going crazy again, or was he trying to be normal? Maybe Peter wanted Scott to be his alpha. Peter was essentially without a pack, and they hadn’t seen him wolf out in ages. Maybe he wasn’t even _capable_ of changing. Maybe he needed help.

Yeah, no, he didn’t care if Peter did need help. He’d rather light him on fire again.

_Derek? Please tell me what’s going on._

_Please, I’m freaking out_

_Derek_

_Derek_

_Dereeeeeeek_

_Maybe I’ll just ask Peter myself_

His phone rang in his hand. He grinned.

“Stiles,” Derek ground out, resigned.

“Hey buddy, what’s goin’ on man? Why are you being all cryptic? If there’s something fishy happening with Peter I feel like I should know, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“Considering that he occupies the same town as me? Is that not reason enough? You do know that he has no qualms about biting people out of the blue. Although he was very considerate with me, in his casual creepy way. Even if I did want to be wolfy, his face put me off it immediately. But can he even bite people now? Did you ever see if he could make the change? I know coming back from the dead is a pretty big deal but it seems like he should have recovered by now.”

“ _What?_ ”

Stiles replayed what he’d just said. “Uh, what are you confused about?”

“What do you mean he was _considerate_ with you?”

Derek’s tone of voice sent shivers down his spine.

“I mean, he asked, or offered or whatever and I turned him down. And he respected that. Even if the whole exchange was a bit _sexual,_ but hey, what do expect from a lunatic who wanted to kill his own family members.”

Derek sighed.

“Just be careful. He told me he saw you the other day and that you weren’t looking well. I think he’s just messing with me, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah man, I’m fine, besides the weird… visions or whatever…” Visions… his brain pinged and he rushed over to his laptop.

“Derek, do you know anything about seeing the future?”

“Seeing the future? No. Is that what you think is happening?”

“Maybe. If it is, that really fucking sucks, but I’d almost prefer that to the other options…”

Derek was silent as Stiles began pulling up threads on forums he’d bookmarked, pages that might be relevant, and skimmed them quickly.

Stiles was lost in thought when Derek murmured on the other end. He was talking to Cora, filling her in.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah.”

“What have you been seeing?”

That gave Stiles pause. He assumed Scott had been relaying his issues to Derek. Although, the latest revelation had only occurred a few hours ago…

“Uh, I’ve been seeing and hearing and sometimes feeling strange stuff. Like horror movie stuff. I thought I might be haunted, or maybe I was really sick or the ‘darkness’ crap from the fake sacrifice was getting to me, but I think now I may have been seeing my own crime scene. From the future. Of me dead.”

“You see yourself dead.” Stiles let him process that as he skimmed another thread. “Fake sacrifice?”

Had they not discussed that yet?

“Dude, we have to talk more often. Maybe if we’re not saving each other’s asses all the time we can fit in some small talk, but yeah, Scott, Allison and I kinda sacrificed ourselves to find our parents. Obviously we lived, but Deaton said it would leave a ‘darkness’ or whatever in us and that it might draw attention to Beacon Hills. There wasn’t really a choice though, we had to do it. So now I’m seeing myself dead in increasingly alarming ways, and I heard you scream my name and I swear to god someone was sitting on my bed the other night. This shit is just freaking me out and what if this really is like a premonition or something and every day it changes because of choices I make, I mean, what if I have toast in the morning instead of cereal and that means I’ll die by decapitation instead of a slit throat- there’s a big difference between those two!! I think I’d rather be knocked out first, I don’t wanna know it’s coming-”

“Stiles!”

Stiles took a shuddering breath and slumped until his forehead hit the desk.

They breathed together until Stiles’ heart stopped thumping quite so hard. He pushed the tightness in his throat down and focused on relaxing his neck, then his shoulders, down to his arms. He took a deep breath and Derek spoke.

“Even if you are seeing yourself, it doesn’t mean it’ll come true. It could still be a symptom of what happened. Maybe the whole point is to just throw you off your game to distract you from something else. You said things might be drawn to Beacon Hills?”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and through his hair, leaning back in his chair. “Nothing else has been happening besides the stuff with me.”

“Maybe something wants to get to you.”

Stiles snorted. “Me? Why me? Lowly human remember? I don’t do much beyond holding the mountain ash and working the internet machine.”

Stiles could almost hear Derek shaking his head at him.

“You do more than that. Everyone knows it.  Even the pack we’re with…”

Stiles held his breath, eyes wide. Was that a personal detail Derek was sharing with him? Oh hallelujah, the skies have opened!

“The pack you’re with knows about me? How?”

“It’s not important.”

“Oh, no no no, what do they know about me? I can’t believe it, I’m famous in the were-world. What I am known for? My undeniable charm? My amazing yet understated good looks? My ability to down a werewolf with just my wit and a handful of ash?”

Stiles heard Cora laughing in the background.

“They just know who you are, okay? Drop it. I think you should talk to Lydia. If you were going to die she’d know.”

That was possibly the strangest sentence he’d ever heard, but it made a lot of sense.

“Yeah, we’ve been talking, I’ll see what she thinks. The interweb doesn’t have much insight beyond what I already knew.”

Stiles tapped his fingers on his desk, quickly growing restless. So much new information to process was making his mind scramble, each thought tumbling and rolling downhill. He slumped forward again, exhausted. What a shitty day.

Derek remained silent, but seemed content to stay on the line and listen to Stiles slowly break down.

“I’m not crazy right?” Stiles murmured.

“No, Stiles,” Derek said softly. “You’re not crazy. And if you were, it’d be understandable.”

Stiles huffed a laugh and closed his eyes.

….

Stiles considered himself to be a quick-witted person- not psychic by any means, but he had a certain instinct that had saved lives- he had evidence! But ever since the sacrifice, he’d been… lacking. Things didn’t come as clearly as they had before. If they had, Stiles would understand why Lydia refused to make eye contact as she took a seat across from him in the library the next day at school.

He wasn’t usually one to stay silent, but Lydia’s manner was making him cautious. He watched her until she settled and finally looked up at his face.

She flinched, but her gaze held.

“What’s wrong?” He slid his hands out in front of him, leaning forward.

She looked down and wet her lips. “What did you need Stiles?”

He barely hesitated before unloading everything on her. “I need to know if it’s just… not real, or if it’s _going_ to be real. As often as I put myself in life or death situations, I don’t really want to die. I haven’t even had sex yet for god’s sake.”

Her eyes flicked up at that. He lifted his chin and waited.

“What do you want me to do?” She looked challengingly at him, crossing her arms.

“Just, I don’t know, have you seen anything or felt anything weird? You tend to know when shit’s going down, is my shit going down?”

Her eyes bore into his as she worked her jaw. She glanced around at the tables near them and quickly stood up and gathered her things. She nodded towards the stacks and Stiles fumbled as he got up to follow. She turned the corner around a shelf near the back. He hurried after her, and as he rounded the corner he saw someone plastered to the shelf beside her.

He froze taking in the scene before him in less than a second. Someone was bound to the shelves, arms out wide, red hoodie ripped to shreds, chest torn open and gaping. Head hanging low, the person was obviously dead, dripping in blood, and Stiles was overtaken by sounds and smells- Derek screaming his name, the thump of something hitting the floor, the smell of gasoline and burning. The whole scene was overwhelming- the stench of stale blood, the echoing of Derek’s shout, the sight of himself, crucified and flayed. Lydia was just standing there looking at him, her face slowly transforming from one of curiosity into one of alarm. She was suddenly right in front of him touching his face and then everything vanished. He sucked in huge gulps of air. His hands were tingling, chest tight, eyes wide. Lydia was staring at him with the same expression.

“Did you see that?” He maybe squeaked a little.

Lydia’s eyes were wide and glazed over, filling with tears. Her hand still hovered over his face. He grabbed her wrist and held it to his chest with both hands. Her throat worked and she gasped as the tears spilled over. “Stiles,” she said in a small voice.

“Lydia,” he said questioningly, searching her face.

“Oh my god Stiles…” she began gasping, and he eased them both to the floor, holding her hands, stroking his thumbs over the underside of her wrists, wondering how in the world he was now comforting Lydia when he’d just seen himself dead again.

“Shh, shh, shh, you’re fine. You’re fine.” She slowly calmed down, rocking back and forth and breathing with Stiles.

“Okay, you’ve got to tell me what just happened. Did you see what I saw?”

Lydia’s eyes looked far away. “Don’t… don’t ask me what I saw. Just…” she trailed off.

“What? You’ve gotta give me something. You saw _something_. Do I die? Is that it? You didn’t scream, so that’s good right?”

She swallowed and looked him in the eye.

“You have to take the bite. You have to. I’m sorry, don’t ask me how I know, just. You have to.”

He reeled. He flailed with eyes wide and mouth open. “What?!” He squeaked indignantly.

“You have to take the bite, Scott has to bite you.” She leaned forward, grasping his arms and holding tightly. “It’s the only way, it’ll fix everything.”

“Wha… how in the world is taking the bite BETTER for anyone in this town? It’s the worst thing I could do, and what the hell is it fixing??”

“Stiles, you have to,” she said, tears threatening. “Promise me you’ll do it.” She looked at him pleadingly and then blurted, “It’s not just you, you have to do this for everyone. Promise me, talk to Scott, I know he’ll do it.”

“What am I supposed to tell him? I don’t even know why this will change anything! You’re telling me to just trust you and change my whole life! What the _fuck_ Lydia?!” He was mostly whispering by the end. He loosened his grip on her wrists, realizing he was furiously shaking.

“I… I don’t know why, I just saw… bodies. Everywhere. Everyone was dead. Is that reason enough?”

His dad? Scott? Cora? Derek? What about Allison or Scott’s mom or Deaton…. Lydia herself?

“You saw all of them. Everyone dead.”

Her nostrils flared and mouth thinned as she closed her eyes.

“Not just me…” he murmured to himself, thoughts spinning in all directions. “So, what… what makes you think that I need to take the bite?”

He swore he saw Lydia blush. It was a confusing sight- her eyes were red and glassy, cheeks already colored, but her neck, ears and forehead quickly went crimson. What could she possibly have to be embarrassed about?

“I just… I just know. Trust me.”

Even when they had needed Lydia’s foresight in the past, he’d never heard her sound so sure about anything. Stiles swallowed. He clasped his hands together to stop their shaking.

“How long? Was there a timestamp on what you saw? An end date?”

“Soon. It was cold. Leaves on the ground…” She trailed off, eyes going unfocused.

“I promise I’ll talk to him. I can’t promise that he’ll do it.”

She nodded. “You have to convince him.”

“Yeah… I can try.” He leaned back on his hands and tried to relax the muscles in his neck and shoulders, shaking the anxiety off for just a moment so he could breathe properly.

“I know you don’t want this, but trust me, you don’t want what will happen if you don’t way more.”

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, focusing on the soft floral of Lydia’s perfume, letting it calm him, steeling his resolve.

Looking at her again, he saw just how affected she was. She was tugging on a strand of her hair, eyebrows knit together, lips parted, and taking shallow breaths.

“Lydia. Hey, I’m gonna do it, okay? It’ll be fine. If me getting a little more hairy once a month is all it takes to save everyone’s lives then I’ll do it. Okay? We’re gonna be fine. We’re all gonna be fine.”

She visibly relaxed but her eyes still looked faraway.

Derek screaming Stiles’ name echoed in his head.

He never wanted Derek to make that sound.

 

He insisted on driving her home. He could barely function after only seeing himself dead. He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if he saw everyone he loved in a similar situation.

Before she got out of the Jeep, she turned to him reluctantly.

“I don’t think we should touch each other anymore.”

Stiles immediately thought of all the times he’d touched Lydia, and they didn’t amount to a lot. Today was probably the most touching they had ever done. He didn’t think anything had been too inappropriate, but maybe he’d crossed a line. He didn’t mean it like that and oh god why did he have to inadvertently ruin the only good relationship he had with a girl?

“Not… not like that, I just mean… I touched you earlier and then I saw … everything. It’s like you were a trigger and it set off this explosion of gore in my mind.”

He shuddered to think that he could do that to someone.

“I’ve been seeing glimpses for the past few days, but nothing … nothing so concrete as that. So, I think we should avoid touching. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that. That… sucks, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen to you.”

She gave him a long look. “I shouldn’t have been surprised. You’re different, Stiles. And I’m not going to touch you ever again.” With a small smile she slid out and went inside.

He frowned at his crotch and realized that no matter his feelings, Lydia and Stiles would never have sex.

 

….

Talking to Scott somehow calmed him and made everything clearer. Scott was still totally confused about it, but he agreed easily enough that if Lydia saw a vision like that they should trust her.  By the end of their long conversation, it was decided that Scott would do it. He’d never bitten anyone, but after a quick conversation with Deaton, they were reassured that a true alpha’s bite would likely be the best possible way to turn Stiles, something about the bite being for selfless reasons. Deaton was a little cryptic, using the phrase ‘it might mean even more for Stiles than we’d expect,’ and not offering any other explanation. He did mention that Stiles was a very strong person and he fully expected the bite to take.

Bolstered from Deaton’s approval he had to face the hard part. His dad.

“Hey pops, what’s up?” Stiles asked as he walked into the kitchen.

His dad glanced up from the work spread across the table and took in the way Stiles wouldn’t stop shifting and twitching.

“Not much. What’s up with you?”

“Uh… so…” He pulled out a chair and sat down, leaned forward, and started tapping on the table.

“Just… spit it out, son.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, bobbing his head up and down. “Yeah. Okay.” Deep breath.

“I asked Scott to bite me.”

His dad’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“I assume you mean in the wolf sense and not in an offensive or sexual sense, correct?”

“Yes! Dad! Oh my god, can you be serious for like two minutes?”

“Scott called. He tried explaining everything to me. You wanna have a shot at it so maybe I’ll understand what the hell he was talking about?”

“Yeah. But just to be clear- you’re not flipping out about me taking the bite?”

“I can’t say I like it, but if it’ll keep you alive I’m guess I'm willing to accept it. That’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it?”

Stiles took in his father’s scrunched brow and squinted eyes and wondered how he ended up with the coolest parent ever.

“Yep, that’s the gist of it.”

He told his dad the best he could about his theory- that something or someone wanted him, would use him to draw the others to him, kill Stiles, then kill them. Basically, bad. Lots of bad stuff. All of this would happen unless Stiles took the bite, which for some reason would render him useless? Stiles hadn’t had enough time to figure it out for himself yet, but he’d start working on that tomorrow. His brain was fried. His dad scrubbed his hands over his face and gave him a long hug and asked the question he was most dreading.

“How long?”

“Soon. We haven’t decided yet. I’ll let you know.”

He could tell his dad was struggling to find something comforting to say. What would you say? Hope it works? Good luck on becoming a wolf? Hope it happens before the vision comes true?

“I’ll always love you son. But I think you’re gonna look really strange as a wolf.”

That startled a laugh out of him, and he hugged his dad again.

“I’ll be hot. My milkshake will bring all the wolves to the yard,” he joked with a smirk.

“Better not, this is private property. Argent got me some special bullets for that gun in the foyer.”

Grinning, he went to bed feeling lighter than he had all day.

 

….

_Miguel! Looks like we will be cousins for real! How cool is that?_

_What are you talking about?_

Stiles wet his lips as he typed. _That’s right, right? Peter is your uncle so his kids would be your cousins, meaning Scott is like your first cousin (removed probably since he was bitten) and that would make me your second cousin once removed!_

_Why are you talking about being my second cousin?_

_Removed. Second cousin removed because Scott is doing the biting._

_What_

Stiles stared at his phone second guessing his decision to tell Derek.

_So turns out I need to be a wereperson. So…  yeah that’s happening soon._

His phone rang in his hands. He sat back on his bed and answered.

“You said you didn’t want it. Who’s forcing you to do this?” was Derek’s huffed greeting.

Wow, it sounded kinda rapey when he put it like that.

Derek’s labored breathing sounded like he’d been working out, hard. Stiles had a sudden image of a shirtless Derek, covered in a sheen of sweat, panting. Firm abs, strong thighs, biceps like they were about to burst- holy mother of- whoa stop that thought right there.

He mentally scolded himself and shook the image from his eyes.

“Uh, well, Lydia, kinda, but not really- but I’m totally for it!” Stiles filled Derek in on everything that had happened with Lydia and Derek’s breathing returned to normal, and he got very quiet.

“And anyway, besides making sure no one dies, I’m really looking forward to the hearing thing.  I’m pretty sure that Scott is sleeping with Allison or Isaac and I can’t tell which one. He thinks I don’t notice all the condoms all over his person, but I do.”

Stiles listened but he couldn’t even hear Derek breathing.

“Derek?”

“How can be so cavalier about this?” Derek hissed. “You don’t even know if there _is_ a threat, if these visions are actually a prediction of the future. You’re so willing to put yourself in harm’s way for other people that you’d believe anything Lydia told you. She didn’t even tell you what she saw!”

“She said enough!” Stiles heart was pounding in his ears. “She told me what she could, okay? And I get not wanting to relive shit like that, I mean, for Christ’s sake, do you really want to tell me about how Kate burned down your home? How Jennifer invaded your life? How Peter manipulated you and then tried to kill everyone? I sure as hell wouldn’t want to- all that matters is that I know it happened, so we don’t have to rehash the details, okay? She said that everyone died. To make them not die, I have to be a werewolf. People live! What’s so fucking difficult about that?”

“What’s difficult? What’s difficult is that you’ve just accepted it! Like it’s fucking fate! I’ve never known you to just accept stuff like this. You’re always searching, thinking, trying to figure shit out. You don’t ever just accept an answer blindly like this, especially with no evidence. When is anything that easy?”

Bile rose in his throat. His breathing was too shallow.

“I don’t know man, I’m just tired of seeing freaky shit and -“ his voice caught thinking of Derek’s desperate scream- “I just wanna be done with it!”

“You think becoming an actual supernatural creature will end the freaky shit?” Derek snorted. “You haven’t thought this through at all.”

Stiles’ face burned. He had thought about this… up to the point of why it would be good, and not delving into the bad.

“I just-" his throat worked to swallow down his embarrassment, “I can‘t let everyone die. You understand right? If you had a chance, you’d do everything you could. Don’t lie to me, I know you would.”

“You’re not me, Stiles. You are so much smarter than me. I mean, how many times did you save me and other people because you used your fucking brain? You always had a theory and evidence and you were always right.”

Stiles took a moment to absorb that. Was that a compliment?

“Then why are you doubting me now? Why do you not trust me this time?”

“Because you’re basing this all on fear! Your biggest being that you lead everyone you love into death. To prevent that you’re going to give up the one thing that separates you from everyone else. Your humanity and spark.”

Spark.

 _Spark_.

The ash on the hoodie, the burning smell, gasoline.

His spark.

He was it. He _was_ why everyone died. And Lydia was definitely right. The only way to avoid that is to not be that, to be incapable of that.

“It’s my spark or whatever that makes it so everyone dies. It’s _because_ I’m human that I die, and that everyone else does too. I’m trying to up my chances of survival and you’re against that?”

“What makes you think there won’t be another way that it would happen if you did change? Why would being a wolf change the events leading up to it? It would just change the method. So you don’t have the spark, it’ll happen another way.”

“At least I could fight back!” He shouted. He hoped his dad wasn’t listening in on this conversation. “What do you expect me to do Derek? Sit back and let it happen? Lydia said whatever would happen was gonna happen soon, like, within the next two weeks soon, and I don’t want to figure out another option too late to do anything about it.

“What do you want me to do? Seriously.” He waited and clenched his fist in his lap. Fighting with Derek over the phone was so different than in person. Face to face, Derek would just glower, give in, or walk away. Over the phone he had to use his words. Honestly, he’d never heard Derek talk so much.

Derek sighed. “Can you wait until I get there? Please.”

This was a stupid reaction and Stiles knew it, but he flushed all over and warmth spread through him.

“Yeah,” he coughed, covering up his hesitation. “When can you get here?”

“I’m about 15 hours away.”

“15 hours… north…” he murmured as he pulled up Google Maps. “Washington? Seattle? Portland?” He grinned, picturing Derek in a beanie and hipster glasses, riding a bike in Portland.

“Further south. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be there soon. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Derek hung up.

Stiles set his phone down, feeling like he’d just fallen from a really tall building, or surfaced from great depths.

He groaned and threw himself in bed, determined to not do a single thing until Derek was there and they could figure out what to do. Together.

…..

He heard the Camaro pull into the drive but he didn’t feel compelled to leave his laptop. He and Lydia were talking over facebook, and she was insisting that yes, the bite was the only way to make this better, don’t argue with me Stiles I swear to god.

Derek entered his room (like a normal person) through the door. He looked around and took a deep breath through his nose, then his eyes locked on Stiles, and yep, there was Mr. Broodypants’ favorite expression.

"Hello sunshine.”

Derek said nothing and Stiles typed to Lydia that he might call her later if Derek wanted to ask questions, but she shouldn't feel obligated to answer them. She signed off with a cheerful ‘don’t screw this up.’

When he turned, Derek was sitting on his bed reading his little notebook of horrors.

“You didn’t tell me they were this graphic.”

Stiles shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t really wanna describe it out loud.”

As Derek read, Stiles took him in. He looked the same. Perfect stubble, the leather jacket was back, and hell, he even smelled good. Crisp but warm…

His eyes must have glazed over because Derek snapped his fingers and stared at him expectantly.

“Did you hear me? I asked if the library was the last place something happened.”

“Oh, uh..” He cleared his throat and scratched his head. “Actually something happened last night… or really early morning.”

Derek raised his eyebrows encouraging him to continue.

He jiggled his leg as he spoke. “I was having a nightmare and woke up and it felt like someone sat beside me on the bed. I didn’t want to look over and see nothing so I just laid there and then…” he swallowed audibly. “And then I felt something, like a hand touch my leg, and it was so strange but not… this, like, calm feeling came over me. It was the most peaceful feeling I’ve ever had in my life. Like I was being hugged and carried and loved.” He couldn’t even feel embarrassed about his word choice, that’s how amazing it had been. “And then I fell back asleep. So, don’t know what the heck that meant, but I much prefer that to the other shit that’s been happening.”

Derek had a small frown and was staring at Stiles’ shoes.

“No Cora?”

“She stayed behind.”

Stiles nodded and tapped his hand on his thigh.

“So, what’s the plan for today?”

Derek glanced up and then looked away, clenching his jaw.

“We should talk to Deaton and Scott. See if there isn’t another option. And then I’m going to check on Peter.”

….

Stiles was not expecting to experience another vision before he got to Deaton’s with Derek. But there it was, his body strewn across the grass, almost unrecognizable. Blood and gasoline stained the grass and cement in front of his house. The smell of smoke, gas, and tang of blood hit him as soon as he stepped outside. Hearing Derek’s scream jolted him just as it had the previous times, but knowing that Derek was behind him panicked him further. Adrenaline rushed through him as he backed up, trying to escape the scene in front of him.

“Stiles-” Derek said as he grabbed his arm. Derek’s breath rushed out as Stiles bodily shoved him back into the house. He quickly closed and locked the door.

Derek was trying to talk to him, but he could only hear that echo-y scream. It tore at his insides. The compulsion to vomit was overwhelming.

“Stiles, calm down, you’re okay, just breathe with me okay? Come on Stiles.”

Derek’s hands seemed large on his shoulders, and he was gripping too tightly. Stupid werewolf strength. Stiles focused on the pain and on Derek’s lips speaking to him slowly, softly.

“Stiles,” Derek said insistently. “Hey, you’re okay, you’re fine. What happened? Did you see something?”

He was a little light headed, but couldn’t be sure it was due to fear or his proximity to Derek’s face. Derek’s very frightened face…

“I saw it again,” he groaned and slumped over, clutching his sides. He felt like he just sprinted double the length of the lacrosse field. Fuck. Why was this one affecting him so much?

Derek let him collect himself and waited patiently as Stiles slowly crumpled. He finally just gave up and sprawled on the floor. He covered his eyes and focused on taking slow breaths, smelling Derek’s scent, and relaxing his muscles.

Derek sat down next to him, arms coming around his knees, patient.

“Fuck. I hate this. I really fucking hate this.”

“We’ll find a way to stop it.”

Stiles pursed his lips, fully aware that the only way to get it to stop would be a) a painful bite or b) death. A gruesome, horrible, terrible death.

“Can you drive? I don’t think I should drive right now.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “Do you wanna tell me?”

Stiles peered through his fingers at Derek’s face. His pale eyes were soft but probing, mouth downturned at the corners.

“Not really. It’s just so overwhelming. It’s like I’m there, like I just walked in on it for real. I smell it, I hear you and I see me… My- the body- was torn apart. It was everywhere. Just.. bits everywhere.” He rolled on his side toward Derek and tucked his knees up, jeans brushing Derek’s shoes. He swallowed a few times to clear the bile rising in his throat.

Whatever was causing these visions, Stiles wanted to kill it. With an ax. And fire, and then bury the ashes with mistletoe and wolfsbane, and then soak the ground with gas and light it on fire again. Why him? Because he was the weak human? The weakest link in the werewolf chain? He got that he didn’t really belong in that world, but god, he couldn’t just leave Scott and the rest of his friends to die when he could honestly help. He was a good person! He didn’t deserve this!

Tears pricked at his eyes, and he pressed his palms to his face. He tried not to think of anything as he breathed. Derek offered his silent comfort, and Stiles felt a measure of calm, reassured.

….

When they finally made it to Deaton’s, Scott hopped off the counter to greet them. Concern flitted across his face as he registered Stiles’ obvious exhaustion.

“Whoa, are you okay dude?”

“Yeah, just, you know, having a ridiculous number of almost panic attacks really takes it out of you.”

Scott looked to Derek and they nodded at each other as Deaton stepped into the room and motioned for them to come to the back.

They stood in an exam room and Stiles puttered around, opening jars and reading labels. The other three were already discussing his problem, and it soon became evident that a) they really had no clue what could cause visions like this, b) that there was no way to tell if the visions could actually be a prediction of the future, and c) if what Lydia saw was a good enough reason to change Stiles.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s causing this, but I do feel like it’s real, like it will definitely happen and I can’t explain that feeling, it’s just something I know. And with Lydia- I trust her. That’s what having faith in someone is, right? Trusting them even if you don’t know the full story?” Stiles looked to Derek, but he wouldn’t meet his eyes. He shook his head. “I only know that I am being terrorized and I’d really like it to stop.”

“What about last night?” Derek asked.

Deaton’s eyebrows rose. “What happened last night?”

Stiles told him about the calmness and pressure of someone or something on his bed, touching his leg, and by the end Deaton was nodding.

“This makes much more sense.”

“Makes sense? So there is something legitimate going on?”

“I believe so. I’ll need to do more research, but I believe this is something you’re going to need to figure out on your own.”

“On my own. That’s it? That’s all I get? You know what it is but I have to figure it out _on my own_?”

“That’s part of the process. It’s not my place to interfere.” Deaton looked to Derek meaningfully.

With a clenched jaw and pursed lips, Stiles typed a message to Lydia asking her to GET HERE NOW please or else everyone will die (in the future).

“So he doesn’t need to take the bite?” Derek asked.

“That may still be a possibility, but Stiles needs to come to that conclusion himself.” Derek frowned.

“Just so I know I’m getting this straight- something _external_ is causing me to have these visions or whatever, and also making me high in the middle of the night-” Scott grinned at that, “and you know what this external force is, but you won’t tell me anything except that I’ll have to ‘figure it out.’”

Deaton nodded, small smile on his face, making him look more sad than anything.

“That’s really effed up.”

“You are more than capable, Stiles. I do know that it does not have malicious intent. You are being shown these things for a reason, and I encourage you to sort through what you’ve seen to discover the purpose.”

“Oh puzzles. Yes, that’s perfect, let’s terrorize the human with frightening images of his own death, but let’s also hide clues in them! Brilliant!”

Stiles could feel their eyes on him as he paced back and forth, fiddling with his phone, struggling not to throw it across the room. He tried to focus on anything past anger.

“What do I do then? What am I supposed to do? Either something is trying to drive me insane or it’s trying to warn me that I will die and I just have to _figure it out_!” His phone buzzed- Lydia was calling.

“Lydia?”

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

She let out a small whimper that seriously broke his heart a little. “I… I heard you… I heard it happen.” Her voice shook and broke.

Stiles glanced around the room aware all eyes were on him. “Okay Lyd, I’m with Dr. Deaton, I’m gonna put you on speaker.” He placed the phone on the exam table, pressing the speaker button. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“I heard you, Stiles.”

Derek dug his fingers into the edge of the exam table.

“I heard you die.”

….

He just wanted to sleep, for like, ever. He crashed into bed fully expecting to conk out in seconds, but found himself wide awake, staring at the dark ceiling an hour later. He’d left the clinic after hearing Lydia’s story- she’d seen a glimpse of the back of Stiles’ head, but the left portion had been mostly missing. With that image came the sound of Stiles ‘grunting’ (as Lydia so delicately put it) when he’d died.

Deaton reassured her and told her to come in the next day so he could give her something to calm the visions. Stiles wondered why _he_ didn’t get any magic calming herbs. After Lydia had hung up, Stiles asked why Lydia was seeing the same things if it was his thing to solve. Vaguely as possible, Deaton suggested that since Lydia had served as his anchor, she might have bleed-through- not to mention her own banshee powers contributing to the problem.

Deaton had shooed them out citing the need for quiet to research. The three stood awkwardly outside the clinic, Stiles lost in his own thoughts. Derek must have said something, and then he was taking off in the Camaro. Scott drove him home in silence. The mix of emotions and thoughts swirling in his head left him feeling muddled. Just yesterday, he had been sure that he would be a werewolf within a fortnight. Now he wasn’t so sure. Was it sadness or relief he was feeling?

Pulling himself out of the confusion, Stiles turned to thank Scott for the ride, but Scott stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey man, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll do it. If you need me to- I’ll- I’ll  do whatever. If you have to turn I’ll help you through it. I bet you’d be an awesome werewolf. Way better than I was in the beginning.”

Stiles couldn’t handle Scott’s earnest face, and leaned over to give him a quick hug.

“Thanks man,” he choked out.

Now, his fingers worried at the edge of his sheet, legs kicking restlessly around the bed. He really just wanted to be asleep, to let his conscious mind settle and turn off for a while. All of the Adderall in the world wouldn’t be able to get his brain to function properly right now. He turned on his side, balling into himself. He shut his eyes and tried to remember what the peaceful calmness had felt like. He remembered it, but it was filtered, gauzy, like the whole encounter had been a dream. Nothing else he’d experienced was like that- the smell of gasoline brought up the visceral scenes in vivid detail. But now he focused on that soft comfort he’d felt the other night, envisioned himself wrapped in an embrace by huge arms, holding him close. Slowly, the tension in his stomach eased, his breathing calmed, and his mind settled.

…

 

Stiles walked through a warehouse. Grey cement floors and walls were lit with dim overhead lighting. This place was familiar. He walked knowing where he was headed, sure he would find what he was looking for. The air was still and stale. He walked through a doorway with no door, a line of mountain ash at the threshold, finding a dark pool of liquid stretching from the far corner of the room to his feet. In the center, he saw a werewolf in red, upper body suspended by his bound wrists. His lower half was sprawled across the floor to right, pants soaked through with blood. He saw flashes of the wolf being injected with something to back of his neck, saw him struggling weakly as he was strung up, his shadowed face as he came to, sneering at his captors. The images flashed quickly; the sound of slicing and a thump, liquid hitting the floor. They passed more quickly; blood moving across the ground, soaking his shoes, a gasoline can being knocked over by a foot.

He saw Scott running, shouting, Derek’s face etched with determination and fear, Derek’s desperate yell bouncing off the walls of the warehouse. The sharp smell of flame ignition. Fire.

He fell off the bed onto all fours and wretched, pulling in huge breaths, focusing on his carpet and not the images behind his eyes.

Could he not catch a break? Not have one night of pleasant unicorn, rainbows, and beautiful-people-filled dreams? His throat tightened, and tears threatened, blurring his vision. He dropped his head onto his fists and rocked back and forth on his knees, fighting the urge to scream. If he opened his mouth he wasn’t sure if it would come out as a yell or a whimper.

The click of his door opening interrupted his body’s struggle. He wiped his eyes and turned.

No one was there. His door was closed. He froze as his eyes darted around, breath coming quicker.

Like a blanket descending over his shoulders, he was wrapped in a sense of calm. Heavy, but not suffocating. He closed his eyes and couldn’t help the sob that escaped his mouth.

This was definitely a presence, Stiles decided. It was _something,_ not a spell, not in his head, it was a something.

With his eyes closed, he dared to speak to it.

“Who are you?” he whispered, barely audible.

An image arose in his mind of him lying in the woods with Scott, talking animatedly, looking up at the stars. He saw this from behind a tree. Possessiveness overtook him, but as he watched himself with Scott, the feeling turned to curiosity. The scene changed to the Hale house, seen from straight on as Stiles threw the cocktail at Peter in Alpha form. The thrill of excitement and victory flooded him, made him shiver. Next he saw his house through the filter of leaves. He watched through his window as he entered his room, his face bruised and bloodied. Righteous anger and the urge to comfort engulfed him. A new scene, but one he had seen before- his body, broken. Sorrow, anger, rage, and resolve to change it- flashes of Stiles face, older. Happy, laughing, a look of affection lingering into something deeper.

Stiles opened his eyes. The calming presence remained.

This… thing.. had been watching him. Felt protective of him. Wanted to help him. The comfort pressed closer, like it was snuggling into him. He let it. Something in him broke and tears fell without his notice. He reveled in the closeness, feeling swaddled, and fell asleep right there on the floor.

….

“Stiles?”

“Wha-huh?” He woke to Derek’s hand on his shoulder, his face full of amusement.

“Was the floor more comfortable?”

“Uh…” His brain was not online yet. He sat up and rubbed his eyes- god, they were dry- and tried to remember what Derek had just asked.

“What’s going on?” He slurred, looking around the room. The sun was way up, must be almost afternoon. Derek sat on the bed and snorted, fully smiling now.

 “Nothing. Sleep well?”

Stiles concentrated, fully recalling the details of last night; the dream, the presence, falling asleep feeling loved.

“Kind of.” Stiles flailed as he stood up, thankful that Derek hadn’t caught him in his batman pajamas. He probably needed to shower, or at least change out of yesterday’s clothes. For now though, he decided to flop on the bed beside Derek. He shut his eyes and took his time waking up. Derek didn’t seem to care; he was typing on his phone. Stiles soaked in the warmth from Derek’s thigh pressed against his. He was stiff and cold from being crunched up on the floor all night, and the bed felt heavenly. He stretched and yawned, curling toward Derek. On a whim, he threw his leg over Derek’s lap, and settled like he was going back to sleep. Still staring at his phone, Derek dropped a hand on Stiles’ calf and stoked it once, then he was back to typing. Stiles’ stomach swooped and his heart thumped and he hoped to god Derek didn’t hear that. He was totally surprised when Derek laid back beside him, still texting.

“Cora wants to know how you are,” he said, keeping his face trained to the screen.

“Oh. Uh, tell her I’m good. How’s she doing? Is she with a new pack now?” Stiles grasped at the subject, hoping Derek wouldn’t catch how his hands were twitching, wanting to latch onto Derek’s bicep.

Derek frowned. “Technically, yes, but it’s hard. She hasn’t really… she doesn’t remember how it works. It’s hard to go from being a solitary beta to being family again.”

“Yeah.” Stiles could imagine. After his mom died, it took him and his dad a long time to feel like a family unit. “So are you gonna… I mean, are you joining that pack too? You’re not… you’re going back, right?”

“Probably. I’m not sure yet,” he said, turning to look into Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles held his breath, eyes widening. “Why?”

“Depends on a few things.”

“On…?” Stiles prompted.

“Peter. Scott. You.”

Stiles attempted to reason out each. a) Peter: What was he up to? Derek probably felt somewhat responsible for him. b) Scott: Was Scott handling the Alpha thing, was he making a pack, did Derek feel threatened by Scott? c) Himself: Stiles guessed he was concerned about him making the change… why was he concerned if he did or not? He still hadn’t figured that one out, and he’d been mulling it over since their phone conversation.

“And I need to talk to Chris Argent about a couple of rogue hunters we encountered. The pack up north has issues of their own, and I might need his influence.”

“Wow. Sounds like a lot of stuff to take care of. Are you gonna stay at the loft?” Stiles’ eyes widened as Derek turned on his side, holding the underside of Stiles’ knee, hitching it over his hip as he shifted.

Derek looked down from where his head was perched on his hand, looking like a bored but intense GQ model.

“No. I left for a reason. Besides, I don’t think I’m welcome there after last night. If need be I’ll just go back to the house.”

“No!” Stiles exclaimed, moving to mimic Derek’s pose. “No, don’t do that. You can stay here. We have a guest room. You can stay for however long you want.”

“Your dad will be okay with that?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised in middle.

“Psh. He’s agreed to way worse things lately. This is nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.” He smirked and suddenly became aware of how strange their position really was. He was reclining on a bed with Derek Hale, almost crotch-to-crotch, fingers brushing on the bedspread between their chests. His heart rate picked up again but he couldn’t will himself to move. He reveled in their closeness, wishing he could push Derek on his back, stare down at him, run his hand across his chest, up his neck, feel the rasp of his stubble that was quickly approaching beard territory, explore the texture against his lips...

Scrambling off the bed, he shouted some nonsense about taking a shower. He darted out of the room trying to hide his blush and the semi in his pants.

Only very recently did he feel he and Derek were more than grudging allies; they were approaching friends, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. Instead of grunts and sharp looks, Derek considered his words, asked questions, accepted his touches meant to comfort, and offered them in return. Now Stiles wasn’t sure how to hide his attraction. It had been easy enough before when they didn’t occupy the same space unless they were preparing for a showdown or coming down off of one. Without the adrenalin and drive to accomplish something, interacting with Derek seemed nerve-wracking. Had they ever had a normal conversation about TV shows or books or anything personal at all, just for the fun of it? He couldn’t think of an example.

Even more nerve-wracking was the tiny blossom of hope in his chest that suggested Derek might be interested. Bros didn’t cuddle suggestively like that, did they? His closest friend was Scott, but they still had boundaries. He stepped in the shower and took his time, sorting through the torrent of anxious thoughts overtaking his brain. Why was he worrying about whether or not Derek liked him when he needed to stop everyone from dying, including himself? _Get your head in the game, Stiles._

Tripping into the kitchen, he stopped dead when he saw what was waiting for him.

Derek made breakfast.

Specifically, eggs and toast and coffee. Two heaping plates sat on the table. Derek was drying a clean pan and turned as Stiles walked in. Stiles’ heart clenched at seeing Derek so domestic and _normal._

“Is this real life?”

Derek’s incredulous look didn’t faze him.

“Am I dreaming? Is this another vision?”

“Might be. Why don’t you find out?”

Stiles inhaled sharply, wondering what he meant by that, but Derek simply took a seat and began eating. Attempting to cover his sudden embarrassment, he looked around suspiciously and slowly slid across the floor to touch his plate with one finger.

“Sit down.”

“Just… making sure,” he murmured as he sat. He gingerly picked up his fork and sniffed the eggs and sipped the coffee, narrowing his eyes at the taste. “Hmm….”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, exasperated.

“Well, if this is a hallucination, I like it,” he said, smirking.

They ate for a few minutes in companionable silence before Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.

“So, you mentioned something about last night? What happened?”

Derek swallowed and picked up his mug. “I went to the loft to talk to Peter, but he wasn’t there. I fell asleep  waiting and he finally showed up this morning. He acted like he was happy to see me, but he smelled angry.”

Stiles snorted. “Angry? You can smell if someone’s angry?”

“I can if I know them well enough.” Stiles choked a little on his coffee, wondering what else a wolf could smell.

“Anyway, I tried feeling him out but he kept deflecting. Kept asking me questions. About Cora, Scott, you, the Argents. I couldn’t get what I wanted out of him so I left.”

“So you think he just doesn’t want you around?”

“That’s my best guess.”

They discussed Peter further, Derek expressing his worry over his uncle trying to take Scott’s Alpha-ness, or trying to be pack. Neither of those ideas sounded great to Stiles, but it seemed like small fish compared to the visions of Stiles dead, and possibly everyone else as well. Speaking of death…

“I had a nightmare last night.” Derek lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. Stiles told him about the dream, but didn’t tell him about the falling off the bed and the crying.

“Do you think it was a vision or just a dream?”

“I don’t know, but the really crazy part happened after I woke up. I think I met whoever is showing me these things.”

“Who?”

Stiles recalled the presence, the comfort, the images of himself over the past year and the one from the future, the emotions that swelled in him with each visage. Derek grew quiet and intense, brows drawing together.

“I think know what it is,” Derek stated.

Stiles flailed, gesturing at Derek to elaborate. “What?! What is it, how do you know what it is?”

“It’s something my mother told me about. She said that the woods were old and sacred, that spirits and creatures lived in them and we should respect them, pay them tribute. I helped her once. She took cream and honey and little pastries out to a stump and left it, said it was an offering to the fae who lived there.”

“Fae… what the hell is a fae?”

“A night walker. A guardian. A creature tied to land. My mother offered the fae gifts to keep it happy. She said it protected our property.”

Considering what had happened to the Hale House, Stiles figured Talia’s offerings hadn’t been good enough.

“Right. Okay… so like, it’s… magic or something?”

Derek nodded.

“Right. Right. So this fae. It likes me I guess? Why is it bothering with me? I don’t think I’ve given any offerings lately... or ever.”

“I don’t know but it sounds like it’s claimed you.”

“ _Claimed_ me?

“Claimed you as its own. Like pack.”

Stiles was not freaking out. Actually, he was having the opposite reaction. It felt _right._ It made sense. He found himself smiling at the table in front of him, full of the thought that he was loved- inexplicably, but still- by a magical woodland creature who thought of him as family, as pack. What was cooler than that?

“Wow…. that is… awesome,” Stiles breathed out, running his hands through his hair.

“I think you’re forgetting the part where it’s showing you visions of your death.”

“Yeah, that’s an issue. We will definitely be discussing that. How do I go about talking to a fae? Does it.. it, she, he, zhe, they, what’s the proper pronoun here? I’m just gonna call it … Charlie. That’s kinda neutral. Where does Charlie live? Can we just go talk to Char and ask what’s the deal with the visions?”

Derek’s stern face transformed into one of bewilderment. He shook his head and stood up, gathered their plates and stubbornly refused to answer.

“Come on, you just said that you went with your mom to where it lives, can't you take me there? I’d really like to ask sooner rather than later.”

“What’s your plan here Stiles? This isn’t someone you can talk your way around and get them to give you what you want, it will expect something in return.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course, bring it stuff. You said he liked honey and sweet stuff… what about like, cheese or something? Charlie can’t be too eager, if he were, he would have made himself known earlier. I’m sure any reciprocation would make him happy. You can take me there right? You remember where it is?”

Derek scowled, but nodded. “We’ll go tonight. I have some errands to run.”

With that he walked out the front door. Stiles sat, baffled, wondering why the conversation had left him unsettled. Well, he had his own errands to run! First stop, grocery store.

……

Lydia wasn’t exactly eager to go out in the middle of the night to make an offering to an unseen magical creature with a werewolf and a clumsy teenage boy, but she agreed easily enough for Stiles’ taste. She actually looked a little nervous when she got in his Jeep, but he ignored that and drove on. He’d asked if she’d come that afternoon, and she had sighed and asked if she did this, would he just take the freaking bite already? He said he’d be more open to it, for sure. She told him pick her up at nine.

“Turn here,” Derek said.

Stiles turned and drove over bumpy roads, or actually, more like trails than roads. It was all very reminiscent of the night he went to the nemeton and crashed. When Derek told him to stop, they got out and Derek led the way, Lydia behind him, Stiles bringing up the rear with two grocery bags full of goodies.

Derek stopped and Stiles took in his surroundings in the dim moonlight.

“Are you kidding me. Are you FUCKING kidding me. _This_ is the stump you meant?!?” He flailed, bags still in his fists, raging at Derek’s lack of foresight.

Derek crossed his arms and glowered. He could almost feel the nemeton mocking him, telling him to give up his offering. He dropped his bags and walked around, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to prevent himself from yelling at Derek. The urge to lash out was overwhelming. How the fuck had he not seen this one coming? And why did Derek fail to tell him?

“A whole bunch of people almost died a month ago right over there!” He pointed, but Derek kept his eyes trained on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me this was the spot?”

“What other stump have you encountered in these woods Stiles? Think about it. We don’t cut down these trees. They’re sacred.”

Stiles huffed, while Lydia picked at her nails, unaffected.

“Fine. Fine! I take no responsibility for anything bad happening tonight.” He started unpacking his bags; pouring heavy cream in a bowl, setting out shortbread, honey, cheese, crackers, and arranged them around the stump. He mumbled to himself about power and sacrifices and stupid werewolves.

“What’s in the other bag?” Derek asked.

“Snacks. For me. Not for you,” he said sharply. He sat a ways from the edge of the stump, pulling out a bag of Doritos, settling in to wait.

“Is this going to take a long time? You could have told me. It’s cold,” Lydia complained.

He was not feeling particularly nice, so instead of going back to his Jeep to grab the blanket from the back, he tossed her his keys. She glared and stalked off.

Stiles stared at the things on the stump wondering if they’d be good enough, if Charlie would like any of it. He hoped so. Just thinking about Charlie sent a little warm thrill through him, a zing of untainted happiness. He wanted to keep Charlie for himself, and he was almost upset that he needed to bring Derek and Lydia- he didn’t want to share. At the same time, he wanted confirmation that Charlie was totally real and that they could feel Charlie too and it wasn’t all in Stiles’ head. He opened his chips, crunching mindlessly, and Derek sat down beside him.

Like, directly beside him. They had the full circumference of the stump to sit around, and Derek sat close enough that his sleeve was brushing Stiles’.

“You’re not getting any of these,” Stiles said around a mouthful.

“I’m heartbroken.”

Stiles snorted, unable to stop himself from instantly forgiving Derek’s oversight. Derek obviously didn’t know how to apologize properly, but he’d accept snark and physical affirmation. Lydia returned, wrapped in a thick blanket.

“This smells like dog. You don’t even have a dog.”

So many replies ran through his head but he swallowed them all when he saw the look on Derek’s face. It said ‘don’t you dare, Stiles. Just because you have an opening, it does not mean you need to take it.’ He stuffed more chips in his mouth and went back to staring at the stump.

Something dark flit across the edge of his vision. He dropped the bag, wiping his hands on his jeans, breath coming quicker. Was that Charlie or just his imagination? He glanced around, trying to make out anything solid. Would Charlie appear in a physical form, or was he strictly non-corporeal? He must have some sort of body if he could eat and drink.

Derek stiffened beside him. His eyes were trained on the bowl, nostrils flared. A few feet away, Lydia was huddled in the blanket, playing on her phone, oblivious. Stiles concentrated on the bowl and noticed that the surface of the cream was rippling, then sloshing back and forth. He sucked in a huge breath, eyes fixed on the bowl of cream. It was one thing to feel a presence in his room when he was half asleep, it was another to have visual confirmation that something had really been there.

Gathering his courage he softly called, “Charlie?”

Derek snorted, breaking Stiles’ concentration. “You’re really calling it Charlie?”

“What else should I call him?” he whispered fiercely. He cleared his throat and called more loudly. The splashing stopped and a tiny form materialized. A black body, looking more like a shadow than a solid object, stood in the bowl and two bright green eyes caught on his. The familiar presence overtook him and feelings rushed through him. Excitement, possessiveness, exultation and relief. The tiny being was suddenly perched on his knee, touching his throat. Its green eyes were trained on his, and he felt… so many things, but overwhelmingly, like he was home. A sense of otherness and power flooded through him. A laugh escaped him and he swore he saw the tiny thing- Charlie- smile.

Derek was stiff beside him, facing them, crouched, as if prepared to fight. Lydia was on his other side, staring wide eyed. He looked between both of them, noticing their eyes were on Charlie.

“Guys, I think this is the source of my issues lately. Charlie, this is Lydia and Derek. Can I call you Charlie?” Charlie smiled again, affirmation flowing through his touch. Lydia squeaked, finding Charlie in front of her face, much larger than he’d been a moment before. The next second he was touching Derek’s face. Derek flinched and his eyes grew wide and breath shallow. Charlie was back on his knee again, shrunk to his previous size. Tiny hand on Stiles’ throat, Charlie communicated acceptance, showing Lydia backlit in dark flowing dress, hands out as if she were beckoning something to her. Then he saw who he assumed was Talia Hale holding the hand of a small boy with dark hair, offering her goods to Charlie at the stump. The scene dissolved and Charlie and he were staring at each other. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, caught in the creature’s gaze, but Lydia cleared her throat and told him to get on with it.

“Oh, right.” He licked his lips, searching for the right words. “Charlie, you’ve been showing me visions, right?” Charlie blinked, reminding him of a lizard, or perhaps a cat. “And you want me to do something about it?” Charlie’s tiny hand pressed harder against his throat. “What do you want me to do?”

He felt as if he had been transported. It was evening, the sun just setting behind the warehouse in front of him. Brown leaves littered the ground in the woods where he stood. It was cold, colder than it had been yet this season. He stepped across the threshold and waited for his eyes to adjust. He smelled the blood first. Then he saw himself on the far wall, strung up from his wrists, toes scraping the ground. Scott lay next to him, contorted, but whole. Derek’s mangled body lay in the center of the room; an island in an ocean of blood. In contrast to his brutalized body, his face was placid and peaceful. It sickened him.

Stiles had to get out. He backed up, tripping over another body. His father, chest bloodied, slashed and stabbed. He scrambled on all fours, finally getting outside, where his feet crunched over leaves as he tried to run. In his path was Allison and Isaac, shot through with arrows; Allison’s dad not much further, throat cut. He kept running, not knowing where he was going, but found himself at another warehouse. Or was it the same one? He ran inside anyway. He crossed a line of mountain ash and there was a werewolf’s body, hung from the ceiling. Lydia stood beside him, gas can in hand, pouring the gas everywhere. Stiles watched his hand come up, palm facing the floor, and saw the gas ignite. Flame, heat, burning flesh.

He gasped, shaking, as if surfacing from underwater.

Derek and Lydia were both sitting near him, in a similar state. He tried to slow his breathing, telling himself that he was fine, everyone was fine.

“What the fuck was that?” Derek barely got out.

“That’s what I saw. That’s what I saw before, in the library,” Lydia said.

Stiles could only nod, fighting the urge to heave.

“God, does it always feel like this?” Derek asked, face scrunched in discomfort.

“Yeah, pretty much. I don’t think he knows how much it affects a person. Charlie? Where’d you go?” He glanced around trying to find him in the dark woods, searching the shadows. Charlie appeared at his feet, looking up at him with large round eyes. “I’m fine, come here.” He beckoned Charlie to him, and he immediately shrunk and hopped onto his knee, grabbing his neck again.

Charlie suffused Stiles with a feeling of sorrow and regret, but also loving comfort. Without any warning, he went back under.

 

A large house loomed in front of him, windows bright against the cool darkness of the autumn night. Carved pumpkins and red mums decorated the porch, lit by the single lantern that had just turned on.  He watched as the front door opened, revealing an older Stiles, hugging Lydia as she stepped out, shouting her goodbyes to someone in the house. Lydia hopped (hopped!) off the porch and got in her car. In the doorway, Scott and Allison also stepped out, Allison hugging older Stiles awkwardly around her swollen belly. They walked more slowly to their vehicle and waved to Stiles as they backed out of the drive. Someone else stepped out on the porch. Derek. Older Stiles and Derek turned toward each other, wrapping their arms around the other’s waist, aligning their hips. Derek spoke to him, smiling, and Stiles beamed- fucking _beamed_ \- at him. Stiles' face heated.

Why was Charlie showing them this? This was like, Stiles’ personal fantasy of the perfect future, he didn’t really want Charlie sharing it with anyone. Besides, how did Charlie even know about this? Could he read minds? He was torn from his musings as older Stiles and Derek began hardcore making out on their front porch. Charlie's presence pressed against his consciousness, suffusing him with a feeling of rightness, of belonging, of desire. He reeled at the deluge of emotion, barely registering that older him had gone in the house, all the lights extinguishing at the same moment. He couldn't get past that vision of he and Derek making out- hands all over, hips pressed together, mouths obviously familiar with the other's.

Stiles came out of it again much like he did the last time, gasping and shaking, only this time it was with the horror of embarrassment. He covered his face with his hands. Tiny claws pulled at his fingers.

"What was that, Charlie?" He asked, looking at the small being from between his fingers. "You can't just show me things and not tell me what they mean!"

"He showed you the future."

Stiles looked up at Lydia and Charlie darted back to the stump, diving in on the shortbread. "Which one was the future?"

"Both. They can both be your future."

Stiles glanced at Derek, but he was glaring at the ground.

“Well, I’d honestly like to only have one of those things happen…” he cringed, face heating more with that admission.

“One of those things will happen,” Lydia said sharply.

“Yeah, I’m getting that now.” He tried to make sense of it all. Everyone dead, then what was with Pyro Lydia and his hand with the flames? Or no, his hand and then he thought about flames? What? And the making out, god, what was with the making out?

“Stiles, please tell me you understand what has to happen. You are not that much of an idiot.”

“Hey! If I remember correctly, I saw a bunch of shit happen or- that had happened, and I saw no reasonable explanation for how to prevent it. Did you see something I didn’t see, because I just saw dead bodies and blood and fire!”

“And you saw you. _You_ ,” she said meaningfully, like she was willing him to read her mind. “You saw that didn’t you? You at your nice house?”

“Yes,” he hissed, keeping his eyes fixed on Lydia. “What about it?”

“What color were your eyes, Stiles?”

“My eyes?” he asked in confusion.

“What color? Were your eyes?” She asked again, emphasizing each word with her head.

“I don’t know! I wasn’t really paying attention to my eyes!”

“They were blue.” Derek looked up at Lydia, challengingly.

Stiles looked between them, catching glimpses of Charlie’s shadow body flit around. “They were? Why were they blue?”

“Oh my god, do I have to spell everything out for you?” Lydia asked, exasperated.

“Yes, please! Just say what you mean! God, now is not the time to be subtle! What are you talking about?”

“Your eyes, Stiles. They were blue in a future where everyone lived.” She spoke mockingly, like Stiles was five. “That means, you did something to make them blue. Hmm, what could you do to change your eye color? Whatever could that be?”

“So I do have to take the bite.” Derek grit his teeth, scowling at the ground. “So what happens? I take the bite and we magically don’t have to go through whatever shit got us all in trouble in the current future? How does that work? And why were my eyes blue? Shouldn’t they have been yellow?”

Lydia shrugged, pursing her lips. Derek wouldn’t give up his staring contest with the ground. Stiles sighed.

“Charlie!”

The fae appeared on his knee, green eyes lit with curiosity.

“Charlie, I just need a yes or no answer. Do I have to get bitten to have that good future you showed me?”

Charlie touched his neck, sending him images of Derek, their hands intertwined, enthusiastic hugs with a redhead, standing at wedding ceremony- fleeting emotions but underlying everything was joy.

He came out of it breathless, eyes catching on Derek’s. Had he seen it all this time too?

“And if I don’t? If I don’t take the bite?”

Sorrow and anger flooded him as he saw himself again, then like a flip book, each and every person he loved, all bloodied and broken.

He gasped, reeling from the onslaught.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he breathed. “Okay, I am convinced. I’ll take the bite.”

 

.....

 

They left the nemeton not long after that, Charlie flitting around in happiness once he saw that Stiles had made his decision. Derek had stalked off toward the Jeep immediately, scowl fixed on his face. Stiles couldn't dwell on Derek’s sourwolf routine, he wanted to thank the fae. With Charlie touching his neck, he tried to think of how grateful he was for Charlie wanting to protect him enough to show him that he had to change. It was confusing and he wasn't sure if he did it right, but Charlie's feelings reciprocated immediately- wonder that the human had listened, that he loved Charlie too, gratefulness for the offering, for Stiles' willingness to believe. Communicating with Charlie felt like opening his heart directly, every emotion was raw and intense.

Lydia seemed wary, but Charlie touched her hand anyway, and she let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Stiles hoped Charlie was helping her somehow.

Derek said nothing as they drove, and Stiles didn't care; he was still riding the high that came from finally _knowing_ , knowing what he was supposed to do, knowing that if he did this one thing, not only he, but everyone he cared for, would be saved.

He walked Lydia to her front door, and thanked her for all of her help and her belief in his sanity. She smiled and hesitated, then pulled him into a hug. He didn't have time to respond before she had whipped the door open and shut it just as quickly. He smirked, feeling somehow victorious.

"Okay, what's with the face?" Stiles asked as he turned towards home.

Derek huffed but said nothing.

"I think I liked it better when you were gone; I think you actually talked to me _more_."

He saw Derek shake his head in his periphery.

"I just... You aren't actually mad at me right? Because I haven't done anything, except adopt a really awesome shadow creature who has a sweet tooth _and_ I'm gonna save everyone's asses, so I really don't get why you're so grumpy." He pointedly did not mention the making out.

Derek grit his teeth. "I saw my mom tonight."

Oh. Charlie’s flashback.

"Fuck. Sorry man. I didn't realize."

"It's fine. It just... sucks."

Stiles nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Yeah it does."

Once inside, Stiles bid Derek goodnight and they went their separate ways, one room apart.

......

Unfortunately, school stopped for no supernatural crisis, but at least he got to break the news to Scott face-to-face. He was like an excited puppy; his face lit up and he hugged Stiles, lifting him off the floor.

"Dude! We'll practically be brothers! This is awesome!" Scott said as Stiles tried to free himself.

"Haha, yeah buddy! Okay, you can put me down now!"

"Sorry, I'm just pumped. You're gonna be the first member of my pack, I can't help it! I'm excited!"

Stiles laughed, happy that someone could make him feel good about his choices. “Is Isaac not your pack now?”

“Well, he is, but it’s different when someone wants to be! You’ll be the baby.”

“Yeah, definitely never say that again,” Stiles screwed up his face in disgust.

"When do you wanna do it?"

"Is after school okay? My place? Do we need to tell Chris Argent that you're biting me?"

"Uh..." Scott looked undecided. "Well... I guess it'd be a good thing for him to know, but... Maybe I can get Allison to tell him for me? I don't know, I'll deal with him later. We have to do this, sooner the better right?"

"Yep. It's a date." He clapped Scott on the shoulder and went to class.

His panic attack came on swiftly and without a clear trigger. Feeling trapped, he stumbled onto the lacrosse field and rode out the tightness in his chest, the tingling in his hands, and pushed away the thoughts looping in his head. He tried not to think of how his life would be forever changed in a few short hours. He tried to recapture the excitement he'd felt earlier, but he could only think of all the times Scott, Erica, Boyd and Isaac had struggled, trying to control the shift, Lydia's panicked screams, Jackson stalking him in the kanima's skin. Even though he knew he had to do this, he wondered just how much he would struggle with it. Beyond death, he was most afraid of having a bad reaction and turning into a scale creature, or having hallucinations all the time for no reason, or rotting from the inside out, leaking black blood until he’d run dry.

He hoped the bite would take and he'd immediately be brilliant with control and shifting and anything else that came it. Honestly, he was totally cool with becoming a werewolf. He did not think himself so special that a bite intended to make him one would do anything but. And yet, that vision of his hand stretched out, creating ignition, a spark, with just his thought, stayed fixed in the forefront of his mind the rest of the day.

......

 

“So… how do we do this?”

Scott and Stiles stood awkwardly in Stiles’ living room. Derek stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, bored expression on his face.

“We should… sit down?” Scott motioned haltingly towards the couch.

“Yes. Sitting would be good. Where, uh, where are you gonna bite?”

“Well, where do you think it’ll hurt the least?”

“Um… I don’t know… I guess... wait, am I gonna bleed a lot? Let me get some towels and the first aid kit. Do I need to get a rabies shot or tetanus maybe?” He motioned spastically as he moved toward the stairs. Derek stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I’ll get it. Sit down. Chill out.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He sat, feeling a bit lightheaded. Was it warm in here? He needed to open a window. Window open. Check. Maybe some water would be good. Yes, water. He went to the kitchen and chugged a full glass. He stuck his head in the freezer. Frozen pizza. That’s an easy dinner, definitely making that tonight. Probably won’t have energy to cook after getting bitten by a werewolf.

Derek’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Breathe, Stiles. Breathe, come on.” Derek pulled him away from the freezer, turning his back to it. His other hand came up to hold Stiles’ neck, his thumb stroking his jaw. Stiles closed his eyes and focused on his breath, letting it puff out shakily. Slowly his muscles relaxed.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to do this,” Scott stood to his side, concern written on his face.

“Yes we do,” Stiles countered, forcibly shaking himself. Derek stepped back, and that was the opposite of what Stiles wanted. Trying not to feel slighted, he marched into the living room and sat on the couch, surveying their set up. On the coffee table were two clean towels, bandages, antiseptic, cotton pads, and - a lollipop?

“I’m not a child, Scott. But thanks anyway.” He popped it in his mouth with a smirk. Derek sat on his right, Scott on his left, turned towards him.

“What do you think? Upper arm?” Scott asked, looking between Stiles and Derek.

“Are you asking for my opinion or permission?” Stiles asked warily.

“Upper arm is good,” Derek said. At Stiles’ raised brows, he elaborated, “It won’t interfere greatly while it’s healing. It’ll be like a flu shot.”

“Right. Bite from a werewolf, flu shot, same thing, totally.” He couldn’t help but think the metaphor was actually kinda true- flu shots prevented sickness, this bite would prevent looming death. Yeah, kinda the same thing.

Scott pushed up his sleeve and swabbed the area with antiseptic, taking a swig of it himself and spitting it back out. Stiles cringed in sympathy, knowing that had to taste terrible.

“Ready?”

“Yeah I guess,” Stiles said a little breathily, heart rate spiking. Scott moved in, quickly shifting to were-form, and Derek grabbed his hand.

The pain was a bit deeper than he’d imagined it’d be. He wasn’t sure if Scott had aimed to hit bone, but he definitely wanted to make sure it’d take. God. Wow. That was intense. Just as quickly, the pain began to recede, turning into a dull throbbing ache. Thankfully, the sucker stopped him from shouting expletives, so he sucked harder as Derek held his hand and Scott bandaged the bite, back to his normal face.

He felt like a little kid again, being coddled by mom and dad at the doctor’s office. With the pain receding, he actually felt a little embarrassed. Why did he get so worked up over that? Damn. It was over. Done! No going back. He felt light, bubbly. His smile quickly turned into giggles, which evolved into stifled laughs. Scott smiled with him tentatively, shooting Derek a look. He took his hand back, and Stiles settled into the couch, staring at his bandage.

“How do you feel?” Scott asked.

“Great! Fucking fantastic,” he grinned at them both.

“Does it actually feel okay, or are you just high?”

“What? Why would I be high?”

Scott tipped his head at Derek, who gave nothing away. He looked back and forth at them, trying to figure out what the hell they were talking about.

“Anyway! Yeah, it feels fine. Just like an achy feeling, is all. So when will this kick in? How long till I heal up?”

Scott shrugged. “Took me about a day, I guess. How long for Isaac?”

“The same, more or less,” Derek said.

Sweet. He still had a day to feel normal. He sank further into the cushions, feeling relaxed and heavy limbed.

“Scott, will you make dinner? Or order something?”

“Scott left about 10 minutes ago. What do you want?”

Stiles’ eyes popped open. The coffee table was cleaned off, the television on at a low volume. Derek was still seated next to him, body language relaxed and open.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I didn’t even say thank you or snuggle afterwards. I have no manners.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing.

“Does one normally get super sleepy after getting bitten?” Stiles asked, fighting his heavy eyelids.

“I think that had more to do with me than getting bitten.”

“You?”

“I took away some of your pain. Maybe a little too much.” He refused to look Stiles in the face.

“Oh,” he said, drawing it out mockingly. “You made me high. It’s your fault. Good thing it doesn’t smell like weed. My dad’s a cop.”

Derek’s lip twitched. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Pizza! In the freezer. Easy peasy.” His eyes slipped shut again.

“Sure,” Derek said, patting Stiles’ leg as he stood. A zing ran up his spine, and felt more awake. He watched Derek’s backside as he walked away, wondering if he could get Derek to fetch him things all evening.

….

 

“Ow! Shit!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Scott pulled the tape back too slowly. They were ensconced in Stiles’ bathroom, Stiles on the toilet seat and Scott perched on the bathtub beside him. Scott had been eager to see his progress.

“Just rip it off, Scott!”

Scott tugged the bandage off. Stiles peeked at the wound, finding a nice, angry red wound covering a large portion of his arm. It’d been exactly 24 hours and Stiles hadn’t felt any different.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s just taking a little longer. That’s normal.”

“Is it? How do you know what’s normal in this situation, Scott? Did you get a handbook when you became Alpha?” Stiles asked acerbically.

Scott reared back as if he’d been slapped. “I know enough. You’ll be fine,” he said softly.

“You don’t know that. I could die. I could start leaking black bile any time now.”

“Don’t say that! And you’re not. I’m pretty sure it would have already started anyway.”

“Delayed onset. It’s just working its way through me and then I’ll go quick, all my blood cells will explode at the same time, black goo everywhere-”

“Stiles, stop!” Scott used his alpha voice. Stiles couldn’t help but flinch and turn his head away, snapping his mouth closed.

“You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine.” Scott began the process of re-bandaging the wound. Derek stepped into the doorway, silently observing as he leaned against the wall.

For once, Stiles didn’t feel like saying anything. He’d been trying all day to not be worried, but here it was, staring him in the face, like a failure. What if his body rejected it?

“You have to accept it in your mind, Stiles. Worrying about it will only prolong the process. You have to accept that it’s already happened, and you’re just waiting for your body to catch up,” Derek said lightly.

“Right. Right, mind over matter and all that jazz. Yeah.” Scott finished up and patted him on the shoulder consolingly.

“You got this man. You’re already cowering in my presence so I know it’s working.” Scott grinned down at him, flashing his eyes. Stiles punched him the thigh as he passed by him, feeling bolstered by the encouragement.

Scott ducked out of the bathroom, but Stiles stayed, absentmindedly rubbing his arm. Despite the support, he felt bereft. After he’d told Lydia, she just said ‘Good’ and walked off. He’d not seen Charlie again, Allison was ambivalent, Isaac just sniffed him and gave him a weird look, and the twins stared at him any time he saw them. Thank god for Danny, the only one who normally tried to ignore him, so at least that didn’t change. Derek was surprisingly attentive and also… relaxed? Before he’d been bitten, Derek had seemed high-strung, stiff, on edge. Stiles hadn’t realized just how tightly wound Derek was until his strings were cut. Now he seemed loose and open in a way Stiles had never seen before. He supposed he should find it reassuring, but it actually made him nervous. Was he the only one waiting for the other shoe to drop?

His dad had hugged him for a long time, telling him he loved him and that he was sorry he wasn’t there when it happened. Stiles shrugged him off, saying it wasn’t a big deal, he just fell asleep afterwards and Derek had played nursemaid.

“Still, I just want you to know I’m there for you, son. I don’t ever want you to go back to feeling like you can’t talk to me. I want to help you.”

Stiles actually got a bit choked up at that. He seriously had the best dad.

He thought of Erica. Had she felt lonely when Derek had changed her? A lone girl in a pack of misfit guys? Boyd had always been so stoic, he could never tell how he’d felt.

Derek cleared his throat. “Are you done moping?”

He looked up, wondering just how long he’d been lost in his thoughts. “Nope, I need at least three and half more minutes of moping time and then I’ll be normal Stiles again. Does that fit your schedule?” he asked, deadpan.

Derek’s eyebrow quirked, and he said, “Three minutes, then you’re helping with dinner.”

Stiles stayed there for four.

He got to the bottom of the stairs just as Scott was about to step out. “You’re not staying for dinner?”

“No, sorry man, I’ve got a thing.”

“A thing…” he repeated, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What kind of thing?”

“A study thing.”

“A study thing. With whom?”

“A couple of people. I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me if anything happens.” He whizzed out the door before Stiles could say anything.

Stiles found Derek stirring something over the stove.

“Do you think Scott’s more likely to be secretly sleeping with Allison or Isaac?”

Derek turned, unimpressed. “Why do you care?”

Stiles sputtered. “Why wouldn’t I care? He’s my best friend! I care if he’s in a relationship with someone.”

“I wonder why he hasn’t told you then. He’s equally likely.”

“Equally likely… meaning he is or he isn’t?” Stiles squinted.

“Meaning it doesn’t really matter does it? He’ll fuck who he wants.”

“Well, yeah, I just… I hate it when he doesn’t tell me stuff. He was absolutely crazy about Allison and now he doesn’t ever mention her. _Ever_. And he doesn’t really talk about Isaac either. But I guess he didn’t really tell me he had been in contact with you… and he didn’t say anything about seeing Peter that one time…”

“Here, cut these up,” Derek said, sliding some veggies and knife across the counter. “People keep secrets. It’s a pretty normal thing to do.”

“Yeah, but this is not secret stuff, it’s regular stuff. He’s just not talking to me at all.” Stiles frowned as he chopped, realizing more and more how Scott really didn’t tell him much of anything at all anymore. Wow, Stiles was a really shitty friend. He was so worried about himself that he’d not really asked Scott about his life. Was he going through anything with the ‘darkness’? How was being an Alpha to Isaac? Was it much different than before?

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to me. Me specifically… Has he talked to you at all about alpha stuff?”

Derek glanced over. “We don’t really have to talk to communicate. I get a lot of things off him just by being around him. His issues are obvious.”

“How is it obvious?” He gave the sloppily cut veggies back to Derek.

“His smell.”

“Wow. I can’t wait for this thing to kick in. All the secrets to uncover!” Derek shook his head and fetched a few things from the fridge.

“Did you go shopping?” Stiles asked, suddenly realizing they didn’t normally stock this kind of food.

“Yeah. Consider it my portion of the rent.”

“Oh, that’s really nice man, you didn’t have to do that. Actually this looks really good, what’s the sodium content?”

Derek looked at him with raised brows. “Sodium content? I have no clue.”

“Oh right… I just try to watch things like that for my dad. High blood pressure and all that.”

“I don’t know, it’s a family recipe. It’ll probably be fine.”

“Chili?”

“My dad always made chili this time of year. Laura tried making it once… that didn’t go well.”

“Should… do you think Cora should stay with that new pack? I was thinking…” Stiles trailed off, finding Derek’s gaze overwhelmingly intense.

“What?”

“Uh, well, I was thinking that since she was having a rough time and that I’m a part of Scott’s pack now, and we were kind of -friends- that maybe you guys should just stay here, hang with Scott a bit… see how it goes?” Wow, that sounded kinda _suggestive_. “I mean, I know you mentioned somewhere safer, but you know us, you know how we work, we’ve saved each other’s lives plenty of times. If that’s not pack I don’t know what is.”

Derek gave him a long look. “No, you don’t know.”

Derek grabbed his jacket, brushed past him, opened the front door, and told Stiles to let it simmer for 25 minutes.

Stiles stared at the door, wondering what he’d done wrong.

….

He took a bowl of chili up to his room after storing the rest, and it was surprisingly good. Derek could cook. He fancied himself an expert in the art of reheating, but Derek could actually make things with ingredients. He was impressed.

He spent a good part of the evening doing the homework he meant to do yesterday, and when he couldn’t focus on that any longer he pulled out his phone and texted Cora. He didn’t care if Derek found out. He rationalized it as doing what he saw was best for the strength of his pack. Bringing in Cora would bring in Derek, and selfishly, that’s what Stiles wanted more than anything. He wanted reassurance that Derek would be sticking around.

Cora texted him a bit and he kept his cool, not making any grand proposals. He fiddled around on the internet, searching in forums about werewolf bites and healing times. Turns out, he was actually normal, Scott was the weird one. Most recovery times fell between two and four days. Awesome. More time to freak out.

Around 10 he went downstairs to lock up, not concerned about Derek. He had a key already. His dad had been surprisingly hospitable, telling Derek to stay as long as he needed, handing him a key, and telling him not to get Stiles arrested. Derek had turned on the charm and smiled- with teeth- and said he’d do his best. Then his dad had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Thanks, son.”

Thanks, _son_.

Stiles had a tiny heart attack, but recovered quickly when Derek shot him a weird look.

He glanced out the window as he turned on the porch light.  A figure outside caught his eye. A man, with dark features, almost entirely in shadow, stood in the street, staring at his house.

Chills ran through his body. Was this a vision or was it real? He’d not seen anything since his ‘conversation’ with Charlie, but it could happen, right? Maybe he wanted him to see something else? The figure cocked his head, shifting from side to side. Okay, nope this was real. 

He reached for the shotgun his dad kept by the door, making sure it was loaded. He kept one eye on the guy outside, daring him to come closer. His heart was pounding in his ears. He didn’t really have a plan, but he definitely had a gun. If this dude was a werewolf, it would do some serious damage, assuming the bullets were the ‘special’ ones his dad had mentioned. And if he wasn’t a werewolf… then what the hell was he doing outside Stiles’ house?

The guy was just standing there. Stiles crouched, peeking through another window, trying to see his face better. He couldn’t make out detail, but he was wearing a jacket, dark jeans, and gloves. Was he… was he talking to himself? Stiles could see the man’s jaw moving slightly. The man reached up and touched his ear and then he began walking away.  Stiles pulled out his phone and automatically dialed Derek.

“What?”

“Hey, there was a guy here checking out the house and it was really creepy and maybe a little menacing. He didn’t do anything, but uh.. yeah.” Now that the threat was gone, he felt dumb for even saying anything about it.

“Stay there.” Derek hung up.

He checked outside once more, then headed upstairs. With the gun. Just in case.

Derek arrived about 10 minutes later, scowl on his face. Moving swiftly across Stiles’ room to his window, he asked, “What did he look like?” He double-checked the lock on the window, which Stiles had already done, twice.

“Just a guy. About 5’10 maybe? Dark jacket, jeans. He was talking to himself and staring at the house. I thought it might be me seeing things again, but that… was too real.”

Derek moved in front of him where he was sitting on his bed, and took a deep breath through his nose. He put his hand on Stiles’ throat, rubbing up and down his neck to his shoulder, stroking his pulse point with his thumb. Stiles inhaled reflexively, and closed his eyes, letting himself be comforted. He relaxed into it, his head  bobbing forward and mouth falling open as Derek’s hand slid to the back of his neck, kneading his muscles. He dared not think about their position- Stiles’ face right at Derek’s navel- and focused on how good this felt. He leaned forward more when Derek began massaging with both hands, his forehead finally coming in contact with Derek’s stomach. That seemed to encourage Derek to press harder, his hands slipping under the collar of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles was quickly becoming aroused; he was both hyper aware and exceedingly relaxed.

“Why didn’t you call Scott?” Derek murmured, not breaking the trance Stiles was under.

“Scott… a lot of reasons. Most of them that… he wouldn’t do this. Scott’s great… but he’s a closer, he can't pitch a whole game.” Was he really making baseball metaphors? “I just mean… god, I’m such a terrible friend, but he’s not the best at figuring stuff out.”

Derek huffed a laugh, stomach jostling Stiles’ head. His hands were much further down, thumbs rubbing between his shoulder blades, down and back up, and this would be much easier if he were shirtless, preferably horizontal. A small moan escaped him. He really needed to shut his mouth.

“I only asked because he’s your alpha. You should turn to him for things like his.”

“Well, if you weren’t here I would have.”

Derek hummed and began rubbing Stiles’ skull, and oh god, that was amazing. He gripped Derek’s jeans in his fists, trying to keep himself grounded. He couldn’t help the sounds that fell out of his mouth almost constantly.

“And you didn’t feel the urge to shift?”

Stiles stomach sank. “No… should I have?”

“I don’t know, just curious.”

He focused on Derek’s fingers in his hair, rubbing absently, caressing more than massaging. He really didn’t want to overanalyze this, but there was no effing way Derek thought of him as just a friend. A friend would pat him on the back. A friend would maybe massage for a few seconds. A friend would talk it out, be reassuring, and then drop it. This is not what a _friend_ would do. However, he was loath to ask what Derek was thinking; he wanted to enjoy this while he could have it, uncomplicated. He decided to push his luck.

“Can you keep doing this? I wanna lay down.” He quickly stripped off his shirt and rearranged himself laying stomach down on the bed, hands above his head, face turned towards the wall. Moment of truth- either Derek would humor him or go back to his own room. He tried to keep his breathing calm, like it was no big deal.

He heard rustling and something fall to the floor, and the bed dipped beside him. Derek straddled his hips, and then his hands made contact, slowly running up and down the length of his back. He immediately relaxed, but flushed all over. Derek was practically sitting on him, pushing his hips into the mattress, trapping his growing erection. Derek began working on his right side, using his thumbs and meat of his palm to dig into his muscles.

“Oh… fuck yes,” he groaned into the sheets. Derek shifted, draping his body over Stiles, bracing himself with one hand on his waist. Stiles froze, heart tripping as he realized Derek was also shirtless. Derek sat back and he heard the snick of bottle cap.

Oh god. He buried his face in embarrassment. Derek was rubbing his hands together, warming up the KY massage oil he’d found on Stiles’ headboard. He quickly got over it as Derek’s hands began sliding over him again. He got lost in the rhythm and sensation, reveling in the knowledge that Derek was the one doing this. Who else would ever do this for him? And who else would Derek ever do this for?

Derek’s scent was heady, like spicy cinnamon sticks and apples and dusty woods. Other scents were mixed in- Scott’s and Isaac’s. Had he seen them tonight? Maybe that’s where he’d been all evening. Maybe he took Stiles’ words to heart and was attempting to become a part of Scott’s pack. A warm thrill shot through him imagining all of them united, working together. Derek there, permanently.

“Did you go see Scott tonight?” he got out between pleased groans.

“Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“Don’t lie. Can smell him on you.”

Derek froze, hands resting on Stiles’ ribs. “You can smell him. I saw him for 10 minutes, in open air, and we didn’t touch.”

Stiles’ eyes shot open in surprise. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Was Isaac there too?”

Derek’s fingers spasmed. “No. But he and Scott had seen each other earlier.”

“Wow,” Stiles breathed, shocked but pleased. “Oh my god. It’s really happening.” He grinned, laughing out of joy. The bite was taking. It was working.

Derek wasn’t moving. “Please, go on, I’m enjoying this.” Derek began his ministrations again, and Stiles focused on Derek’s scent. Spicy autumn, warm and homey, but it was quickly growing deeper, musky, warmer. Stiles couldn’t parse what that meant, but his body responded without his permission, pushing his hips up to relieve the renewed pressure in his groin.

“Am I hurting you?” Derek asked, lifting himself up.

“No! No, you’re fine.” Derek settled and began kneading Stiles’ lower back. He groaned, feeling his muscles contract and release as Derek’s hands worked. His thumbs brushed lower, dipping below his jeans. His nerves ignited, and he could smell his own arousal, getting thicker by the moment. He canted his hips, wanting more pressure, more friction. Derek shifted back slightly, sitting on the backs of his thighs. He rubbed harder, pushing Stiles’ hips down, then ran his hands up his back, Derek’s arms stretching and hips pressing against Stiles’ backside. Derek was aroused. There was absolutely no doubt in Stiles’ mind. Derek began working Stiles’ shoulders, hips rubbing and pressing against him with each movement. In turn, Stiles was being ground into the mattress, pleasure slowly building each time Derek rocked against him. He felt overheated. He knew his face must be bright red, and the small sounds slipping out of his mouth betrayed him, leaving no doubt to how affected he was.

He wasn’t sure what to do, caught in this haze, this feedback loop of sensation. Derek’s hands running over him, his erection grinding into him, the small huffs of breath on the back of Stiles’ neck. Their scents mingling together smelled amazing. He wanted to roll in it, douse himself in their combined essence. Who knew enhanced smell would be such a turn on? Every roll of his hips felt like a secret, forbidden. Like they were stealing pleasure from each other.

Derek’s hands reached further, sliding over Stiles’ arms, to his hands, intertwining their fingers. Derek was practically laying on top of him, skin hot and smooth sliding against Stiles’ back. He was pinned, and damn, was it a turn on. Derek tensed, breath coming in hot and damp on Stiles’ nape, then very deliberately pulled his hips back and ground slowly into Stiles’ ass. Stiles didn’t think he could flush any more than he already was, but his ears got in on it now. He gasped, rocked by the sensation, and Derek did it again. He pushed back into it, his breath coming quicker, escaping his mouth in little pants.

He tightened his fingers around Derek’s, wanting to show Derek just how much he wanted this, how he needed him to keep going. The mattress was too soft to get him off, but he didn’t dare move his hands. The slow grind continued and he was well and truly under, completely submerged in the give and take.

“Stiles!” His dad called from downstairs.

Oh shit.

The trance was broken. Derek sat up immediately and got off the bed. Stiles hadn’t moved yet, but he had a head rush, making him dizzy and bit sick.

“Stiles?” His dad was on the stairs. Derek threw his shirt at him and he dazedly put it on, sitting on the edge of his bed. Derek was fully dressed, seated at his desk, booting up his laptop. Stiles took a few deep breaths trying to feel normal again, grabbed a book, and propped a pillow against his headboard.

His dad opened the door as he was leaning back against the pillows. He noticed the KY bottle by his calf- he covered it with his foot.

“Stiles,” his dad said as he poked his head through the door.

“Oh, hey dad,” he said looking up from his book.

“Hey, son. Derek.” Derek nodded, glancing up from the laptop.

“Can you tell me why you took the shotgun from the foyer?”

“Oh! Yeah. I didn’t have to use it! But uh, there was a guy lurking out front and uh, better safe than sorry. It was probably nothing, we don’t have a clue who it was, but I just … needed the gun,” he finished lamely.

“Someone was outside the house? Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve driven by, at least run his ID.”

“I…” he shook his head, floundering, “I didn’t think of that.”

His dad rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Well, next time, call me,” he shook his head in exasperation. “What am I gonna do with you kid?”

“You are going to applaud my efforts in defending our property and thank me for not going out there and confronting him myself.”

His dad gave him that look- the one of ‘really, Stiles’ but also, ‘I love you, kid’ and Stiles was okay with that.

“Hey, if you’re hungry, Derek made chili. It’s in the fridge. It’s really good, I already put some in a container for your lunch tomorrow.”

His dad’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay. Thanks son. And thank you Derek. So um…” he began as he walked into the room, crossing his arms and looking down. Stiles panicked, thinking his dad would come sit on the bed, and quickly grabbed the bottle under his foot and shoved it into the pillow behind him.

“Yeah?” he tried to sound nonchalant.

“How are things going… with the... stuff?” his dad gestured vaguely, wrinkling his brow.

“You mean, how am I doing becoming a werewolf?”

Another vague gesture.

“Well, I know that you sat at your desk all day because you reek of stale coffee and some sort of take out that you probably shouldn’t have accepted. But I know how lunch room politics are, you’re a smart one, Dad. Good job saving face.”

“You could smell that?” Stiles nodded, grinning. “Guess I’ll have to quit smoking then,” he said with a put upon sigh.

“Ha ha. But really, you should tell me if you have a, uh, lady friend.” Stiles couldn’t tell if the floral notes were from a coworker or someone more significant.

His dad screwed up his face and scoffed. “Yeah, right. You should get to bed,” he said as he was leaving, “You have school tomorrow.”

“Yep. Night pops.”

With his dad gone, he wondered what the hell he was going to say to Derek. ‘Hey, that was really hot, you can massage me and grind on my ass anytime. Like, now would also be good.’ He didn’t think that would go over well, judging by the tension in the room.

Before Stiles could do or say anything, Derek got up, closed the laptop and left the room without sparing Stiles a look. He stared open mouthed at the door, feeling vaguely sick. God, was Derek upset with him? Did he regret what had happened, or at least, started to happen? His stomach roiled thinking that Derek didn’t actually want that, didn’t want him. But, hey, no, Derek had started it! He was the one coming on to Stiles! If anyone got to be moody it was him.

Decidedly pissed, he angrily got ready for bed, but Derek’s lingering scent was driving him crazy. It was all over his skin. He desperately wanted more of it, but he couldn’t decide if he should shower or just sleep in it. Reluctantly he got in bed. He couldn’t bring himself to wash it off, no matter the weird implications. He breathed deep, absorbing the scent, and tried to relax. Instead, it just stirred the feelings from earlier. He palmed himself, giving in. He thought of Derek thrusting against him, and he flushed all over, knowing this was going to end very quickly. He came to the thought of Derek against his back, holding him down as he took his own pleasure.

Fuck. He shivered coming down, twitching with aftershocks. He used his shirt to clean himself off and threw it in the corner. God, everything smelled weird. Nothing was bad, per se, just really intense. But he really liked how he smelled now, essence of Stiles entwined with notes of Derek. Mmm. He shivered again in pleasure, burrowing into his sheets. He fell asleep wrapped in their redolent cocoon.

 

….

 

One would think he could get used to the dreams, but he woke again, falling to the floor on hands and knees, wanting to hurl, gasping for breath. Flashes of red, the smell of smoke, and inexplicable cries of pain rolled in his head, and he tried to shake them, but his eyes were already stinging with tears. The thing that really got him was that scream, that horrible sound of Derek yelling his name. It was so urgent but filled with sorrow, like he already knew it was too late, that there was no hope. Why was he still hearing that? Didn’t he take care of the reason for that yell? Was Charlie showing him this or was it his own subconscious?

His door clicked open, and he immediately was relieved. Charlie was here to comfort him.

“Please. Please help,” he whispered, eager for Charlie’s deep abiding peace.

A warm hand touched his shoulder and flinched violently, inhaling Derek’s scent.

“Fuck. Shit,” he cringed and clenched his fists.

“Come on,” Derek said softly, helping him back into bed. Stiles refused to look at him, keeping his eyes closed, mouth quivering. Derek ran his thumb over Stiles’ cheek, wiping away the wetness there. Derek sat against him, over the comforter. Stiles didn’t know why he didn’t just leave; his scent was flowing over him, his thumb moving rhythmically against his jaw- was he trying to break him down into little pieces? He honestly wanted to sob, but he couldn’t let himself with Derek- all of this was already in the territory of too intimate.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed, and that sounded too close to a different utterance for his taste. It was sad and urgent, and fuck Derek for pulling at his heartstrings like that.

He opened his eyes to see Derek’s face pulled into a small frown, eyes full of concern. He didn’t know what to say. He let out a shaky breath through his mouth. Derek’s eyes flicked down, zeroing in on the movement of his tongue wetting his lip, and then his thumb was barely brushing over his lower lip, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. Even in the darkness, he swore he could see Derek’s pupils grow larger. That intoxicating scent surrounded him again, warm and rich. Fuck. He was still uneasy from his dream, but his body didn’t care. His own scent responded quickly.

Derek’s eyes shot to his as his nostrils flared. Stiles shivered under the intensity of his gaze. Were they finally going to acknowledge this, then? He didn’t know if Derek had _feelings_ for him, but he was at the very least attracted to him.

Derek leaned over and his heart went wild, sure he was about to be kissed. Derek hesitated, then pressed his lips against his forehead.

“Stop smelling scared. It freaks me out.” With a final look at his lips, Derek left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He breathed in the remnants of Derek’s scent for a long time, but never fell asleep.

….

“Stiles!” Scott screamed into his ear. He flinched, cringing in pain. It was too early for this. He closed his locker and turned expecting Scott to be standing right behind him.

“Scott?” he said looking around. Scott came running up to him from down the hallway, grin stretching over his face.

“Dude! Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott said, smacking Stiles in the arm.

“Tell you what?” Was he talking about Derek? Oh god, did Derek tell Scott what they had gotten up to last night? Why would Derek tell Scott? Why was Scott happy about it?

“That it’s working!! I’m psyched for you dude! Derek texted me, said your sense of smell came online last night. Is it awesome or weird?”

Stiles sighed in relief. As close as he and Scott were, he was not prepared to talk about Stiles’ desire to get into a certain werewolf’s pants.

“Yeah, it’s cool. It’s really intense. Is it supposed to like, calm down or something, cuz right now it’s like-” he made an explosion noise, expanding his hands by his face. The lack of sleep probably didn’t help, but everything felt brighter and louder and smellier and he was normally fidgety, but today it was like five red bulls and a few too many pills went straight to his bloodstream.

“Yeah, it’ll level out. Kinda sucks for a while. Just wait till you have to control your own heartbeat.”

“Can’t wait.”

 

In true Scott & Stiles form, they ducked out of the library during study period and went to the lacrosse field. Scott wanted to see just how quickly Stiles was adjusting physically and to test that, he would throw things at him.

“Ready?” Scott said from across the field. Stiles gave him the thumbs up and Scott hurled a ball at him. It hit him in the thigh before he could move to catch it. Gah, that stung. Scott didn’t waste a moment and lobbed the next one. It hit him in the shoulder. The next one nailed his shin. He caught a whiff of something strange and looked towards the woods when the next ball caught the side of his head.

“Scott, damn it, stop for a sec!” He kept sniffing, wondering what the hell that smell was. It was like burning… something, like ozone, electricity. He followed it to the edge of the woods, Scott jogging up beside him.

“What is that?” Stiles asked.

Scott shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t recognize it.”

Stiles really wanted to keep following it but Scott was tugging him back to the field. After 20 more missed balls, Stiles gave up. He obviously wasn’t to the stage of physical prowess yet. He did get mad, but he didn’t get the urge to shift like Scott was suggesting might happen. He did feel a slight tingling in his hands, but he chalked it up to the cold. Scott told him to keep him updated and they parted ways. He almost shouted at him to have a nice time with Allison tonight, but he kept his mouth shut. Sometimes it was okay to have secrets.

 

….

Derek wasn’t there when he got home and some of the tension in his neck released. He didn’t think he could handle seeing Derek hyped up like he was. More than anything he wanted to see Charlie. Hell, he knew where Charlie lived, he should just go see him.

After making a pit stop at the grocery store, he went to the nemeton, eager but nervous. He knew for a fact that Charlie was real, that what had happened was real, but some small part of him still doubted- every interaction read like a dream. He approached the stump just as the sun dipped below the horizon, and placed his offering with care, as if he were setting out tea for a guest. He waited, practically vibrating with energy. Thank god Charlie was close, he didn’t know how long he could sit there in silence.

“Charlie!”

The green-eyed shadow bounded up to him, somehow stretching to encompass Stiles in a full body hug. Immediately he felt comfort, home, peace, joy. He shuddered, body relaxing in a way it hadn’t all day. He projected his feelings back- happiness, relief, that he missed Charlie’s presence the last few days. Charlie shrunk back to his small shadow size, perched on his lap, weightless, but somehow still present. He blinked, grinning. His small hand touched his upper arm and tingles shot through him. Charlie patted the same spot, insistent.

“Oh! You want to see! Yeah, hold on.” He shrugged out of his jacket, pulling up his sleeve to reveal the bandage on his arm. “You’re gonna be disappointed. My body’s a little slow on the uptake.”

He peeled off the bandage and in the fading light he could still make out very distinct scabs pulling at his skin. “See? It’s taking me a while.” Charlie grinned and put his hand over the mark. A sharp heat went through his arm and he smelled that smell again- electricity- and his whole body tingled with a vibrating energy. He felt a push and pull inside of him, Charlie’s presence mixed with a fuller other power, something old, very old, like the earth itself. The tingling sensation stopped, but he still felt the connection. Charlie hopped away to scope out his goodies, and Stiles stared at his arm. Instead of a healing wound, he saw a set of thin wavy lines radiating from where the bite was and spread like veins up to his shoulder and down to his elbow.  He couldn’t see them clearly, but holy cow, that was cool and also a little terrifying. He tried not to wonder at the significance of it, knowing he wouldn’t get a straight answer out of Charlie.

Charlie returned to his knee, placing a sticky hand on his neck. Charlie was pleased with the offering. Stiles smiled. Charlie flashed an image of campfire in Stiles mind.

“What?” Stiles asked, cocking his head.

Charlie pressed harder, showing them, in front of a campfire, right there at the nemeton.

“You want me to build a fire?”

Charlie left an impression of frustration before disappearing. He stared into the darkness, rubbing his arms. It was cold. He slipped his jacket back on and Charlie returned with a bundle of sticks and his figure faded in and out as he arranged them. Charlie landed on his knee again, satisfied.

“I don’t have any matches or a lighter or anything.”

Charlie touched his hand, staring up at him expectantly.

“What?”

Charlie patted his hand.

“What do you want me to do?”

Charlie patted his hand harder.

“What, Charlie?!?”

He swore he heard Charlie growl and then he felt power rushing through him. Charlie patted his tingling hand, insistent.

“What do you expect me to do?” But as he said it, he remembered the vision of his hand rising, the gas igniting without a flame held to it. “You want me to light it.”

Charlie grinned, patting his hand again.

“But I took the bite… I don’t have the spark anymore…” Charlie stopped listening and went back to his stump, lapping at the cream he’d set out.

Stiles was at a loss. He knew he was turning into a werewolf. He could see, hear, smell more efficiently, and yeah, his body wasn’t healing or responding to threats the way it should be, but these things took time. It was only his second full day after being bitten, cut him some slack. But Charlie seemed to think he could light things on fire… and he did trust Charlie, even if he didn’t quite understand him all the time.

The power, the otherness, still surrounded him, but the tingling in hands grew stronger when he thought of the sticks in flame. He began panting, unable to stop himself from seeing it, the small stack of wood, burning, flames licking the air, smoke curling upwards towards the night sky. The tingling grew stronger, like his blood was vibrating, and with his heart in his throat, he raised his hand toward the bundle.

Nothing happened.

His hands were buzzing, but the sticks refused to light.

“Charlie? What am I supposed to do? How does this work?”

Charlie stubbornly stayed where he was, swimming around the bowl of cream, but the image of a gun floated into Stiles’ mind.

Without any real thought behind it, he curled his hand into a finger gun and pointed it at the sticks.

“Pew.”

The wood fucking exploded, fiery splinters flying everywhere.

“Holy shit!” Stiles scrambled backwards, heart beating erratically, blood rushing in his ears, half blinded from the flash of the explosion. Charlie’s presence wrapped around him like a buffer, deflecting the embers from falling on him. Charlie was laughing at him. He was fucking _gleeful_.

“You planned that, you little shit.”

Charlie wrapped in close, radiating joy, laughter, and affection.

Everything smelled like burnt wood, but they had no campfire. Once the embers had settled, he tried again, this time with one stick. He felt the energy in his hands and directed it towards the small piece of wood, holding it in his right as he pointed at it with his left. He imagined a nerf gun, a nice soft nerf gun and pulled the trigger.

“Oh, fuck!” The whole length of the stick caught fire, and he dropped it, checking to make sure his fingers weren’t burnt.

He tried again and again, making progress but not getting much better at directing the aim or amount of power, but much better with releasing it. By the time the moon was overhead and Charlie had finished his offering, he felt he had a tenuous grasp on this… power? Ability?

“Charlie,” he said, beckoning the fae to him, “What am I? Can you tell me what I am?”

Charlie cocked his head in confusion, showing Stiles his own earnest face.

“No, I mean, before, I was human. Now I have a bite and I’m different. What am I now that I’m not a human?”

Charlie showed him his future self again, arm slung around Derek’s shoulders, and they were smirking at each other. The scene shifted to Stiles sitting cross legged on the floor, facing Lydia who was in a similar position. He was speaking to her, and her hair began to lift, her eyes opening and mouth moving. Then he saw Scott holding Allison in his arms, completely shifted, rocking back and forth. Stiles was in front of them, hunched over, holding Allison’s head. Her eyes opened and she gasped.

He came out of it much calmer than he had previous times. Like he absorbed the shock of it; he felt the emotions involved, but they were separate, other, and left him capable of observation in a way the former visions hadn’t.

“So I’m m-magic, or something?” Charlie gave him a sly look. Stiles narrowed his eyes. “What are you not telling me?”

Charlie grinned and wrapped him in a full body hug again, showing him affection and love and how happy he was that he’d made the right decision and reassurance that Charlie would be there, looking out for him. Stiles thought all the same things back to him. Charlie spirited away, not making a single noise as Stiles stared at the nemeton in the moonlight, conflicted.

What the fuck was his life? It was… fucking 10pm on a Wednesday, and he’d just practiced some kind of magic or energy transfer under the tutelage of a mythical creature who lived in the ‘sacred’ woods outside his werewolf-filled town, and he’d been bitten by one of those werewolves only two days ago, and almost been fucked by one the night before, and now he didn’t really know what to do with himself.

 

…..

 

He pulled into his driveway a little over a half hour later, but his dad nor Derek were there. Stepping out of his Jeep, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was being watched. He froze and scented the air, smelling that burning, electrical smell, the same one from the lacrosse field. He reached with his senses scoping out the area. The porch light was on and the moon was up, waxing, casting a white glow that messed with his depth perception. He couldn’t see anyone, but he still felt watched. He moved slowly up to the front door, unlocking it and stepping inside. He closed it, looking out the window.

The man stood there at the foot of his porch, staring at him, making eye contact.

Oh shit.

He grabbed the gun again, not afraid to step out and defend himself he came any closer.

His eyes flashed- a grey color- and he snarled. Fucking _snarled_ and then turned and disappeared like a Harry Potter character disapparating.

shit shit shit

This is not the kind of crap his dad needed to be involved in. Scott or Derek, Scott or Derek, what the hell. Derek.

“He was here again. He was right by the porch, and he was staring at me. Then he vanished,” he spoke into the phone in a rush.

Derek barely paused before he launched into instructions- get in the bathroom, lock the door, take the gun, don’t come out until I get there. Call Scott.

Stiles followed his instructions, dialing Scott once he was locked in the bathroom.

“Stiles?”

“Scott! Buddy, hey, so I have a situation that may or may not involve a someone who possesses powers similar to the durach, but the jury is still out on that one, not enough evidence, but the point here is that I am barricaded in my bathroom because it might still be outside my house. So, would you maybe come over and check with your awesome Papa Alpha senses? Derek’s on his way, but I thought you might want to get in on this action.”

“What? Yeah, oh my god, are you okay? I’m on my way!”

“I’m fine. Actually. I’m fine.” He really was. His heart rate was near normal now, he wasn’t shaking, gasping, or sick. He was a little high on adrenalin, but besides that he felt confident, assured that Scott and Derek were on their way.

He rubbed his eyes. He was actually really tired. Why did stuff like this happen when he was tired? Couldn’t it wait until morning, after some coffee?

Derek shouted as soon as he entered the house, telling him to stay there, he was checking the inside now. When he finally opened the bathroom door, he looked at Stiles curiously.

“What happened to you?”

“With the guy? Not much, he literally just stared at me and then disappeared.”

“No, your scent is different.”

“Uh… well, I was with Charlie all evening… doing… stuff…” Derek’s eyes narrowed, mouth pulling into a frown. “Any sign of him?”

Scott came crashing in, slightly out of breath. “I got his scent but it stopped at the porch.”

“Same.”

“Okay, so he really did disapparate. Damn, I wanna learn how to do that.”

Scott and Derek gave him a weird look.

“Why do you smell weird?” Scott asked.

“Oh my god, Scott, you can’t just ask someone why they smell weird,” he said with feigned vehemence. Scott did not get the reference, judging by his confused expression. He rolled his eyes. “Um… I think I’m… magic or something? Like, with fire? And maybe other stuff?”

They stared at him, faces blank.

He frowned, then grabbed a wad of toilet paper. He set it in the sink, pointed his finger gun at it, and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, it didn’t just ignite like Stiles had intended, it exploded into flames sending tiny paper ashes floating all over the room. A warm sharp scent filled the air, and Scott flipped out, but Derek just scowled, fanning the air in front of his face.

“I’m having some power level issues, but it’s just a kink, the IT guys are on it.”

“So… are you like, not a werewolf?” Scott asked, eyes wide and worried.

Stiles made a noise that sounded like ‘meh’ and a squawk, and shrugged his shoulders. “Do you wanna stay the night? It’s kinda late, and uh… I don’t really know if I can heal from bodily harm yet…”

Scott and Derek looked at each other, silently debating.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, Derek should stay in your room. If this thing is after you I want someone with you at all times.”

“Security detail,” Stiles said, nudging Derek with his elbow, trying to sound nonchalant, but silently freaking out. After last night’s… events, he felt incredibly confused about what was going on between them.

Going to sleep on his bed with Derek on the floor felt like an insult, but honestly, his bed wasn’t large enough to hold him and a buff werewolf, unless of course they were on top of one another…

Derek said absolutely nothing to him- didn’t even look at him as he settled in for the night. He smelled completely normal, but Stiles knew that his own body was probably giving off a ridiculous number of clues to his torrent of feelings. What he wanted more than anything he knew he wouldn’t get- an acknowledgement, just a word or a look or anything that said ‘yeah, that happened.’

He honestly did try, really really hard, but Derek was right there, and he had taken off his shirt, and he was currently enduring a lot of hormones. Things happened sometimes without cognitive consent.

“Stiles,” Derek whined, rubbing his hand over his face. “Goddamn it.”

“Just ignore it and it will go away. That’s what I always do,” he said, probably a bit too loudly.

Derek turned away from him, pulling his blanket over his shoulders. A minute later, that enticing, spicy scent wafted across his nose, and he inhaled deeply, taking his fill.

“Shit,” Derek whispered, curling in on himself.

Really, truly, what were they doing? They were both into it, why didn’t they do anything? Stiles’ hands began tingling. Maybe Derek was unsure if Stiles really wanted it? Maybe he’d felt like he’d forced what had happened yesterday. That was totally not the case, but Derek had issues, Stiles was aware.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered. Derek didn’t respond. “Derek… please.”

“Not tonight,” Derek barely whispered back, “Scott’s downstairs.”

His hearing had been going from extremely sensitive to normal all day, and Derek’s whisper felt like a promise gliding over his skin. He flushed and listened for Scott downstairs. He couldn’t tell if he were asleep or not.

“Okay,” Stiles breathed, willing time to move faster.

 

……

He’d wanted to punch plenty of people in his life, but none as much as Deaton. They’d gone to his office after school the next day (which was agony by the way, how was a teenage boy supposed to stop himself from lighting things on fire using his mind if for no other reason than it’d be _fun_?) to see if he knew anything about the menacing creeper. Deaton had listened while Stiles described what the man looked like, Scott described what the man smelled like, and Derek stood with his arms crossed.

“Well, we knew this was a possibility,” Deaton said looking at Scott and Stiles accusingly.

“That what was a possibility?”

“Using yourselves as sacrifice had consequences. Now we have to deal with those consequences.”

Stiles couldn’t help the surge of anger welling up in his body.

“So who is he? Why is he here?” Scott asked.

“Presumably someone who wants something, or wants to hurt you.”

Stiles clenched his hands, itching to release the energy build up in them.

“So what should we do?” Scott asked, unperturbed by Deaton’s vagueness.

“Stay safe, see if you can reason with him. Without knowing what he wants we can’t do much of anything.”

Stiles shoved his hands under his armpits to keep himself from exploding something on accident.

 

Derek insisted that he could sleep downstairs that night, Scott should stay with Stiles. Stiles tried to hide his disappointment by being overly enthusiastic. It backfired quickly.

“Yay! We can stay up all night and talk about boys!”

“Yeah, you wanna talk about boys, Stiles?” Scott asked calmly, meeting his eyes with a level gaze.

Stiles coughed, quickly changing the subject.

They did not talk about boys. Or girls. They did talk about other things like werewolves and Stiles’ new abilities. As Stiles changed for bed, Scott shouted his name, and grabbed his arm.

“What the hell is that??” Scott demanded, looking at his upper arm.

“Oh… uh… that’s what Charlie did when he healed the bite,” Stiles replied, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Holy crap. Did you show Derek or Deaton this?” Scott traced the inky spindles running up and down his arm.

“No.”

“You should. This is… not normal.”

“Of course it’s not normal, what about getting bitten by a werewolf and healed by a fae is normal?”

“I mean, _more_ not normal. Derek!”

Stiles was not prepared for how Derek reacted. He’d expected him to scowl, maybe explain what it was. He did not imagine that Derek would completely wolf out, throw Stiles on the bed, and proceed to lick and bite over his new ‘tattoo.’ Derek’s body writhed over his, rubbing against his naked chest. Derek’s hands were firm; one on his neck, holding him down, the other holding his wrist to the bed. Stiles was not surprised that a multitude of embarrassing sounds escaped him, but he was surprised that Scott didn’t immediately pry Derek off of him. He stood at the foot of the bed, small frown on his face and arms crossed.

“Dude!” Stiles cried, pleading with his eyes.

Scott raised his eyebrows and smirked. Then the little shit strut out of the room, giving Stiles a big grin before shutting the door behind him. Derek continued to cover him in his scent, mouth bruising the lines on his arm, nipping and licking again and again.

As much as his body liked this treatment, his brain was still kinda angry. Why the hell was Derek doing this?

“Derek?”

Derek straight up growled, deep and low in his throat.

“Hey,” Stiles chastised, “Hey, stop. Chill out okay? It’s not going away no matter how much you do that.  So quit it, it’s starting to hurt.”

Derek growled again, hands coming to cover the mark. He instantly felt a lightness, a warmth, spread through him. He involuntarily closed his eyes and just felt.

Derek pressed his (human) face to Stiles’ throat. His breath came in warm quick huffs against his collarbone. Derek had shifted so he was no longer touching Stiles anywhere else, their only point of contact was Derek’s face tucked under his chin.

Derek said nothing. Should he comfort him? What was appropriate when one of your friends that you might possibly be more with overtakes you in his werewolf form and proceeds to cover you in his scent?

“Uh… so…” Stiles began, swallowing reflexively.

Derek opened his mouth and breathed over Stiles’ Adam’s apple. Derek began breathing quicker, like he was working himself up. Derek’s hands moved, one holding his shoulder down, the other skimming up the side of his head and into his hair. Derek grasped him by the hair on top of his head and turned his face away, slowly. Derek continued to breathe, exhaling over his neck, right under his ear. Stiles’ next inhale was filled with Derek’s arousal- which was quickly becoming his favorite scent- and like a dog in Pavlov’s care, he was responding in kind immediately.

Derek trailed his nose and parted lips up the tendon standing out in his neck, stopping under his earlobe. His lips moved, tracing silent words with tiny touches of tongue.

Stiles was entranced. His eyes closed and he breathed deeply through his open mouth, hands twitching and tingling, wanting to touch but not sure if he were welcome to do so.

Derek cupped the back of his neck, mouth pressing more firmly, laving him with his tongue. Stiles wasn’t sure he was coherent at this point, but he felt like his skin was vibrating. He was hopelessly aroused, flushed, and brimming with barely contained energy. He was sure he could set his whole room on fire if he tried.

Derek began sucking and nipping with blunt teeth, and his body lowered, like he was settling in for a nice long meal. He bit at Stiles’ jaw. Stiles gasped, tingles radiating to his lips. Oh god, he wanted to be kissed so badly. He licked his lips and felt Derek shift above him, hands leaving his body. He opened his eyes to see Derek’s naked torso. Derek tossed his shirt and looked back down at Stiles, making eye contact. He looked so open and vulnerable, his entire upper body moving with each breath.

Stiles placed his buzzing hand on Derek’s forearm thoughtlessly. Like a gravitational pull, the energy coursed through him and into Derek. He reeled at the thoughts and feelings that overcame him. He saw visions of himself, younger; his cockiness prevailing. He saw his face open as he pleaded with Derek in different places, different lighting. He saw himself freaking out, face pale, hands shaking, eyes wide and fixed. Derek’s emotions were scattered, but the overriding feeling was one of protection and possessiveness. He saw himself laughing, smiling. He saw himself on his bed, laid out, and a surge of raw want filled him. The urge to take, to claim, to mark. He felt like he was floating outside himself, weightless, seeing and feeling Derek’s thoughts and emotions from a different perspective. He reveled in knowing Derek had wanted to protect Stiles for a long time now, wanted him as pack, and had recently wanted him as more. Without understanding what he was doing, he kept the connection open and tried opening his eyes.

Derek was sitting atop him, straddling his hips, eyes shut tightly, teeth grit together. Stiles abruptly closed the connection, ripping his hand away from Derek’s arm. Derek took a deep breath and opened his eyes, inscrutable look burning into Stiles. He was overcome by the sudden rush of warmth and affection and the deep desire to wrap Derek up inside himself, to comfort him, to take away all the bad things that had happened to him. His eyes raked over Derek’s face, the vulnerability in his eyes, and _wanted_. The scent of arousal was still strong in the air. Derek’s eyes flashed blue.

Then they were kissing.

Stiles couldn’t think. His hands were vibrating again, lips tingling as Derek covered them with his own. He couldn’t control it- he wasn’t sure if it was the suddenness of the kiss or the newness of his powers or the fucking moon, but the connection opened again, and he was engulfed in emotion. Derek was full of possessiveness, want and desire, but also a heavy amount of guilt and sadness. Understandable, Stiles reasoned, curling his tongue around Derek’s. His hands itched to touch. Fuck it, he thought, the connection is already open. He ran his hands over Derek’s back and into his hair, relishing the heat and smoothness of his skin, wanting to push up against him, to feel the long lines of his body fall against his.

Derek slid his arm under Stiles’ back, palm coming up to grip his shoulder. He used that as leverage as he ground his hips against Stiles. Stiles gasped into Derek’s mouth, shocked at the zap that ran through him, zinging up his spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pressed back, chasing the sensation. Stiles hands grasped Derek’s hips, running over his firm ass, pushing him down as he strained upwards. They were panting into each other’s mouths, foreheads together, and Stiles couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He had hoped, god had he hoped, but he never imagined that Derek felt so strongly about him. No wonder he reacted the way he had to the mark Charlie had left. Stiles still couldn’t be sure what it had meant at the time it was given, but he knew how Derek saw it- a claim of possession, the mark of a tribe.

Stiles was falling apart. They ground against each other, pleasure building, pressure mounting. His heart was going wild, and his face was blazing. Derek’s body pressed him into the damp sheets, trapping him there. Between the onslaught of emotion and Derek’s hands all over him and his hips and his face and his mouth, Stiles couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was too deep, caught in a current.  His hands were still vibrating, like his blood was boiling under the sheath of his skin. Too much, too hot, not enough air.

Derek was suddenly across the room. Stiles opened his eyes to see him staring at him in shock and wonder. Stiles took deep, gulping breaths, trying to surface from inside himself, to keep the tingling at bay.

“I’m sorry, sorry, what happened, are you okay?” Stiles asked in a rush, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“I… You pushed me. How did you do that?”

“I’m sorry, I just… I was getting a little claustrophobic. I didn’t mean to push you. Did I hurt you?”

Stiles got up, inspecting Derek’s chest.

“I’m fine. I didn’t feel anything… not really. I felt it in my head,” Derek looked at Stiles like he was puzzling something out. “What the hell are you Stiles?”

“Derek, we have company,” Scott said urgently from downstairs.

Stiles watched as Derek’s face immediately transformed, snarling at Stiles to stay. He panicked for a total of ten seconds before throwing on a shirt and sprinting down the stairs. The front door was open. He smelled the burning ozone and grabbed the gun. He stepped out on the porch, looking for a sign of them. He stood motionless, repeatedly scenting the air, trying to detect anything.

Stiles startled, flinching violently as the man appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nothing.

The man smirked and flashed his silver eyes again.

“Hello Stiles. Nice to finally make your acquaintance,” he said with a mock bow. This close, Stiles could smell more things about him- dusty leaves like the woods, rust, and something else that was familiar but he couldn’t place. His eyes were insane- seriously, how did one get silver eyes like that? His shiny hair was dark and longish, just brushing his broad shoulders.

“I’ve been eager to meet you for some time now. I felt your declaration, of course, and I had to see for myself who was encroaching on my territory. I’m sure you’re just as eager to get this figured out between us,” the man said with a laugh. He stood confidently, hands in his pockets.

“What’d you do with Derek and Scott?”

“Oh, your pups. I only took them on a tour of the beautiful countryside surrounding this town. It’s lovely this time of year.”

Stiles bristled at his tone, but he was glad they were safe, away from this weirdo.

“What do you want from me?”

“I would like you to leave, of course. As I said, this is my territory. I’ve had this stake for ages. I’m sure you understand, but you know how we are- we can’t overlap like this. It isn’t safe for anyone,” the man said with a sad smile.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m not leaving just because you tell me to.” He gripped the shotgun more firmly, hoping to god it was loaded.

The man cocked his head to the side.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Sam. Sam Holden of the Holden Coven,” he stepped closer and held out his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” his eyes softened and Stiles could smell his pheromones dancing in the air between them. Oh good lord, was this guy attracted to him?

“Sam. Right. Sorry,” Stiles said, waving off his hand, “You’re fine, you’ve just been freaking me out lately. Could you… tell me why you’ve been staring at my house?”

Sam screwed up his face and looked at the ground in embarrassment. “Shit… sorry, I just…” He looked up at Stiles and scratched the back of his head. “I had no intention of being creepy, but I could sense you, but it was… different and I was trying to figure it out. I used a couple different combos but I couldn’t parse out what I was sensing. I know now, obviously,” he said motioning to Stiles with insistent eyes, “and I’m terribly sorry for that.” Sam spoke with a different cadence to his words, inflection and lift in strange spaces.

Sam took a tiny step forward, looking Stiles up and down. “You seem a bit young. Did you say you just moved here?”

Stiles scrunched his brow. “I literally just said I’ve lived here my whole life. What did you not understand about that?”

“Well, we all have different lives, I can’t be sure how long this one has been. I only sensed you a short time ago, but you do look so young. How have you come this far so quickly?” Sam looked at him in open curiosity and wonder. “You must be quite advanced.”

Stiles could only stare in confusion. What the hell was this guy talking about? Was he admiring or accusing?

Sam’s eyes focused on his lips and Stiles smelled his scent again- dusty and spicy. In the dim light,  Stiles could see Sam’s pupils enlarge and lips part. After a moment, he visibly snapped out of it, eyes going to Stiles’.

“Um…” Sam began, flushing. “Would you, uh, do you want to grab a coffee or something? We can talk shop, see what we can do about the territory issue.”

At Stiles’ blank stare, he backtracked. “Or not, you can send someone from your coven to discuss territory, that’s fine too, I just always enjoy meeting someone who’s on my level. I’m sure you understand, it’s frustrating maintaining that balance of authority but still being a friend to your members. No one to vent to, right?” He chuckled to himself. God, Stiles thought, this guy doesn’t shut up.

Stiles was about to correct his assumptions when he heard growling in stereo. Scott and Derek stepped to either side of Sam, making a protective barrier in front of Stiles. They were in top form, eyes radiant in the night.

Sam smirked, holding his hands up in surrender. “Have a nice stroll?”

Derek growled, stepping fully in front of Stiles. Stiles grabbed Derek’s bicep, stepping up beside him, “Hey now, we’re cool, it’s fine.”

Sam eyed Stiles’ hand on Derek and watched Derek slowly relax his stance. Scott slipped back into his regular face and stood closer to Stiles, eyeing Sam warily.

“This is Sam, and he apparently thinks a lot of things about me that aren’t true, but we are going to discuss it without teeth or claws okay?” Stiles nudged Derek in the ribs. He gave no acknowledgement, keeping his eyes fixed on Sam.

“Guys, seriously, it’s okay, we just need to talk, can you give us some space, please?” Stiles said, trying to shove them away from him.

“Yes, let the adults talk,” Sam said with amusement in his voice. Derek growled, but they each took one step away, and then fell slightly behind Stiles, flanking him.

“Okay, I don’t know what the hell you were talking about earlier, but I’ve lived here my whole life- meaning 17 human years- and I don’t have a coven, I have a pack. Scott,” he motioned to his best friend, “is my alpha… as of three days ago. Which is basically when you started creeping around my house. So I don’t know what I did to rub you the wrong way, but I literally don’t care a lick about your territory, I don’t want it. It’s all yours.” He was still holding the gun, but it was at his side. His hands were tingling faintly. He tried to remain as open and non-confrontational in his body language as he possibly could.

Sam looked startled, staring at Stiles in bafflement. “That makes no sense. I felt it. We all felt it…”

“Felt what?” Derek asked. Sam flicked his eyes to Derek, like he was surprised he was still there, or that he was capable of speech beyond growling.

“You. Your declaration. It was clear as day. Are you saying that you didn’t intentionally declare?” Sam sneered.

“I don’t know what that is, so I’m gonna say, no, no I did not. And obviously if I did I shouldn’t have, so I will retroactively take it back. Sorry.”

“You are so curious, Stiles. So much raw potential,” Sam said with assessing eyes. Stiles could just make out the low grumble in Derek’s throat. “I should so like to see what you can do. You have the makings of your own coven, but since you’re not interested in that-” his eyes touched on Derek and Scott, “then I would love to welcome you into mine.” He gave a small, but confident smile, flashing his silver eyes again.

“Uh, I’m already overbooked on my schedule, actually-”

“I don’t think you understand, Stiles. You don’t have a choice in the matter. Either you maintain your… pack and leave this area, or you join me. This isn’t just my rule, it’s a coven policy. Having two powerful mages in one territory is irresponsible unless they work in the same circle. Refusing to cooperate would be a grievous error on your part.”

Stiles stared open mouthed. “What did you call me?”

Sam shook his head, as if in amazement at Stiles' incompetency. “I’ll be back tomorrow night. I’ll need a decision before the full moon,” he said pointing to the lopsided orb in the night sky. “Think about what you’d like to do.” With one final flash of his eyes, he turned on the spot and disappeared.

“How does he _do_ that?” Stiles murmured to himself, staring at the spot Sam had just stood. He took two steps forward and turned quickly, but his feet got twisted and he fell to the ground, shotgun falling beside him.

"Maybe you shouldn't try that yet," Derek said, giving him a hand up, "We don't want you splinching yourself."

Stiles could not understand his body right now. The prime example for his confusion being that he smiled and _blushed_ at Derek's words. What was he, twelve?

Scott looked at him slyly. "So, uh, guess you're not a werewolf, huh?"

Stiles sighed. "I don't think it's for lack of trying. You gave it a good effort buddy, but I am a wild stallion whose magical wiles cannot be tamed. I mean," he faltered, gesturing wildly, "assuming that we can take Sam at his word. And Charlie.... And other evidence," he finished lamely, glancing at Derek.

"He threw me across the room," Derek said to Scott, "With his _mind_."

"I'm _advanced_. I have _raw_ _potential_ ," Stiles gloated, smirking, "And I'm hot. He totally wanted me."

Scott's eyebrows did a thing, and Derek suppressed a smile.

"So in conclusion, I am a fucking awesome witch or something magically badass, and I haven't even tried yet. And I have a rockin' bod. Oh my god, my milkshake _is_ bringing all the boys to the yard. Literally! Ha!" Scott was smiling with him, but Derek was quickly sobering.

"What are you gonna tell him?" Derek asked, arms crossed.

His smile faded, weariness overtaking his limbs. "I don't know. We'll all have to talk about it. As a pack, right?" He asked, looking to Scott.

Scott gave him a warm smile. "Yeah. As a pack."

 

....

Deaton seemed to enjoy having the five teenagers (plus Derek) in his little clinic, judging by his small smile and open expression. Stiles supposed on the scale of danger this didn’t rank highly, and was therefore seen as a ‘good’ pack meeting, but it was still pretty urgent. They all stood around in an exam room as Deaton explained covens and territory and what the hell a declaration was. Some of it explained why Sam had seemed like such a douche, but honestly, Stiles didn’t want to be a part of any of it.

“But I just wanted to be a werewolf, not a fucking mage!”

Deaton gave him a slightly sympathetic look. “Although you may not feel this way now, having these abilities will be a great asset to this pack, and yourself. The fae knew this, did he not?”

All eyes turned to him.

“Yeah,” he said glancing at each of their faces, “Yeah, it uh, he showed me some stuff.”

“A little too much for my taste,” Lydia said under her breath.

Allison smiled, Isaac raised his eyebrows, and Derek rubbed his forehead. Stiles just glared.

“Okay, but since he declared himself or whatever, does that mean he absolutely has to either leave or join the Holden Coven?” Scott asked, focused on Deaton.

“According to coven policy, yes,” Deaton shrugged, “But since when have rules and policies ever stopped you?” Deaton’s eyes sparkled, smirking. “You may be young and inexperienced, but if you come across as confident, he’ll be willing to negotiate. He was very accommodating  at the beginning of your conversation, was he not?”

“Yeah, I think it was a combination of respect and uh… physical admiration,” Stiles said matter-of-factly. Derek rubbed a hand over his face.

“If we can get him to agree to a territory treaty then everyone wins. How does that sound Scott?”

Scott looked around at each person, gauging their feelings. “I think that’s better than giving Stiles up. He’s my best friend,” Scott said looking at him, “I want to keep him here, in my pack.”

Stiles smiled and bumped shoulders with Scott. “Thanks buddy.”

“So how does this territory thing work?”

 

…

Stiles spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening learning all he could about policies and treaties and land rights. He felt he had a pretty good grasp, especially since he learned that Charlie’s mark on his arm tied him to the land legally, and therefore had a suitable claim to the preserve, at the very least. He stood up, stretching his stiff limbs, and sought out Deaton. Everyone else had left a while ago, telling him to call if there was any trouble. Honestly, he knew he didn’t want to speak to Sam without at least Derek and Scott there- if only for their muscle.

Deaton wished him good luck and he headed home, eager to get it all over with. Derek was in the kitchen with his dad, who was dressed in his uniform, eating breakfast for dinner.

“Hey pops. Working night shift?”

“Unfortunately,” John said with a grimace.

“Are we good for tonight?” Derek asked from where he was seated at the table with his own plate.

Stiles grabbed the plate made for him on the counter and joined them. “Yep. I am fully prepared to talk my way out of this one.”

“What are you talking your way out of?”

Stiles stopped with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “Uh, territory dispute. Of the supernatural variety.”

“Are you the… spokesperson for the pack or something?” John fished.

“No, uh…” Stiles gathered his thoughts while he chewed. “The dispute is actually with me. I guess I’m not technically a werewolf, but like, a wizard or something. So this other wizard showed up last night and was like, ‘Dude, you’re on my property,’ and I was like, ‘Calm down man, be cool, you’re actually on my front yard,’ and he was like, ‘You have until tomorrow to leave or join my gang,’ and I was like,  freaking out a little bit because he called me a mage.”

His dad gave him that look that said are you shitting me right now, get to the point.

“So basically, he thinks I’m trespassing, but I’m going to reason with him like an adult, and we’re going to work it out without me leaving or joining his coven. So… yeah.”

“So you’re not a werewolf.”

“No.”

“You do… magic.”

“Yeah.”

John shook his head, clearly overwhelmed. “And you are… okay with that?”

Derek raised his eyebrow at Stiles.

“Yep. It’s pretty cool actually! You wanna see? I can make things catch on fire!”

“Oh god, please don’t burn down the house. I have to run, you can show me tomorrow.  Good luck with the… territory thing. Call me.” His dad gave him a stern look. “I mean it. If you need me for anything, call me.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks dad.”

John ruffled his hair, a fond smile on his face, and within the next minute he was out the door.

Stiles ate, trying not to think about the short distance between Derek’s arm and his. His senses were still out of whack, but he swore he could feel the sizzle of electricity between them. Last night had not ended as Stiles hoped, which was to fall into bed with Derek again- maybe this time with him more in control of the proceedings- but Derek denied him. He had stared at Stiles for a long moment before hugging him tightly. Stiles held on, squeezing his eyes shut, forcing himself not to speak. Derek seemed relieved, and Stiles wanted to give him that reassurance- _we’re okay, we’re fine, I’m fine._ Without another word Derek went to his room and shut the door quietly, leaving Stiles aching with longing- to comfort, to hold, to connect to Derek again like he had just an hour previous.

“When’s Scott getting here?” Derek asked softly.

“Uh,” Stiles checked his watch, “‘bout another hour. Sam keeps popping up around 10 or 11, so he wanted to come over early just in case. We’ll have some time to kill.”

“So what’s your plan?” Stiles explained his views on the possibility of a treaty, the likelihood of how it would play out, and that should Sam try anything magical or outright malicious, Derek and Scott were there to help out. Stiles didn’t trust his abilities yet- they were too unpredictable to rely on. Derek watched him as he spoke, listening intently, eyes flicking to Stiles’ ever-moving hands.

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about, he seemed pretty reasonable, besides being kinda rude, but I mean, I don’t know the guy. Maybe  he was just having an off day. I feel like I’m having a fucking off _week_ -” Derek gently grabbed Stiles’ left hand out of the air, lowering it to the table, and began stroking the back with his thumb. Stiles froze, eyes fixed on their hands. The tingling began again but he pushed it down. Now was not the time for soul-searching connection. Derek gazed at him levelly, a softness in his eyes. His hand was warm, larger than his, weighty. His own felt spindly and light in comparison. Derek Hale was holding his hand. Was this… was Derek trying to comfort him? He grazed his fingertips against Derek’s wrist, more of a twitch than an intentional movement. Derek gave his hand another long, slow stroke with his thumb. Chills ran up his arm.

He took a few quick breaths and let it all out in a long exhale.

“So yeah. I think it’ll be fine.”

Derek smiled. “Good. I’m gonna go throw in a load of laundry. You need anything washed?”

“Uh, no, I’m good.” Yeah, no way was Derek doing his laundry. Nope.

Derek stood, hand squeezing his, and walked out of the room.

The doorbell rang.

Stiles stacked the plates in the sink and went to answer it, expecting Scott.

“Lydia.”

Lydia stood on his doorstep, dressed in a pink coat, hair pulled back with a headband, and a dazed expression on her face.

“Uh… Lydia?”

Her attention snapped to him and she frowned in confusion. She looked around, mouth moving in aborted sound.

“Hi. What are you doing here? Did you need something?”

“I was going to Allison’s.”

“Allison lives on the opposite side of town…” Stiles said slowly, unsure of what was happening.

“Yeah. But I ended up here...” Her eyes grew wide and her nostrils flared. “Oh my god, it happened again. Please tell me no one is dead inside.”

“What? Oh my-” Stiles understood- she’d gone into the fugue state again, guided by her banshee powers. But why was she here --

“Derek!” He ran through the house, shouting his name, searching each room and finding it empty. He checked Derek’s room, seeing a pile of laundry on the floor by the foot of his bed. On top was the notebook he used to document his visions. He was hit by the smell of burning ozone and dusty leaves. He picked up the notebook, flipping through until he found a page containing someone else’s handwriting. Lydia approached him as he read the address and began to text Scott- relaying the address and information, telling him to go there with Isaac and Allison, armed.

“Come on,” Stiles said, turning and ushering Lydia out, “Let’s hope you’re wrong.”

…..

The drive to the address was tense. Stiles was fighting the urge to set his Jeep on fire. His hands were practically shaking with the amount of pent up energy in them.

“But why would he take Derek? Does he think that’s some sort of leverage? I thought you said this guy was reasonable?” Lydia asked, worry evident in her tone.

“Well… I was wrong. He’s obviously a psycho, and I am so beyond negotiating with him at this point.” He gestured angrily and a spark flew out of the radio. “Shit,” he said, curling his hand into a fist and shoving it under his leg.

The warehouse looked familiar, and as he drove up he didn’t notice any other cars. He barged inside with Lydia one step behind him.

In the center of the room, Derek hung from the ceiling by his wrists. He wasn’t bleeding, but he was sweating profusely, and his eyes were bright blue and anguished. Stiles began to run to him, but Lydia held him back.

“Stiles, look,” she whispered, pointing to the lines and mounds of what he assumed was mountain ash on the floor. Was he immune to that or not? He hadn’t tried it yet. Derek was panting. He stepped forward again, ready to try his luck, but a voice stopped him.

“Oh yes, please get closer,” Sam’s strange lilt called out.

Sam stepped through a doorway and several people materialized in the large open room. His attention stayed focused on Sam, who was staring at him with undisguised hatred.

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles asked in a flat tone.

“Eye for an eye. One of your pack members tortured and killed one of mine, I thought you’d like to see how it’s done, properly. No blood, no maiming and ripping of flesh like an animal. No, this is… elegance.” Derek cried out, still hanging limply, eyes burning bright. Stiles’ heart was racing, adrenalin rushing through him and energy coursing through his fingertips.

“We didn’t do that- no one from my pack would do that, why would we? Just-” Derek cried out again, “Stop! Please stop, we didn’t do anything!”

“I really felt we could have worked well together. You seem very intelligent. Quick,” Sam snapped his fingers, “but unfortunately, I am not one who will bow under threat of violence against my coven, and I take declarations very seriously. I don’t care if you didn’t order the killing of one of mine, your pack made the decision without you. Therefore, your dogs are rabid and bloodthirsty and must be _put down_.” Derek made a low noise, struggling, like he was being crushed. His arms lengthened and his head bowed.

This was not happening. Derek was not going to die because of a supposed slight against some crazy coven. Without having any concrete ideas, he let the energy buzz through his body, opening the connection he felt at the nemeton with Charlie, letting it burn through him and ground him.

“I don’t think so,” Sam said, sending him and Lydia flying into the wall behind them and holding them there. Stiles felt the connection drop and the energy faded to his fingertips. His body was immobilized, but he could see Derek clearly, his body no longer straining. He was simply surviving. A whimper escaped Stiles’ throat. He couldn’t watch this happen. God, please no.

“Sorry Stiles,” Lydia whispered.

“Sorry for wha-”  She took a deep breath and screamed.

Stiles’ ears rang with the intensity of her scream. All of the witches covered their ears in pain. An arrow whizzed by, pierced Sam’s throat, and he froze in shock before collapsing to the floor. More arrows flew, hitting the coven members around the room, and they raised their hands in defense or offense, Stiles wasn’t sure. Scott and Isaac entered the fray, teeth and claws out, and they tore into the ones nearest them without hesitation. Lydia was still screaming, and god, how could they fight and still hear this? How did she still have breath??

The hold on him suddenly released and he fell on all fours, scrambling to get to Derek, but a sudden barrier at the line of mountain ash stopped him.

“What the…” He pushed his hands against the invisible wall, fascinated, but frustrated. Curses flew by him and he heard Isaac scream in pain. The blood and magic mixed together to create a gross stench of burning flesh. He kept up the resistance, wondering if he could break through with sheer force of will.

Derek hung limply, unconscious- hopefully just unconscious- and he was filled with a grim desperation. Derek couldn’t die. He couldn’t stomach the thought that Derek would live a life full of torture, abuse, manipulation, and not get to experience all the good things he deserved. His hands began to fill with energy, vibrating. He once again tried to open the connection to Charlie and the nemeton. He visualized the mountain ash parting, flying away on a breeze.

He pushed out with his mind.

The mountain ash exploded into the air, falling softly on everyone, evenly distributed throughout the warehouse. Not exactly what he had in mind...

He rushed to Derek and reached up to untie him. The knots were ridiculous, doubling back up to the ceiling, making it impossible to untie.

“Fuck this,” he said, pointing his finger gun at the ropes. They disintegrated in a sizzle and puff of smoke, and Derek fell to the ground in a heap.

“Shit shit shit,” he murmured to himself, checking Derek’s vitals. The coven was slowly and methodically being ripped to shreds and he heard curses flying over his head, but Stiles could care less; Derek wasn’t breathing. By instinct he grabbed Derek’s neck, opening the connection between them and pushed energy into him. He poured out all the emotion and life that he could, willing Derek to breathe, to open his eyes, to fucking heal already.

Stiles felt the instant that Derek was back online. He felt his pain, a deep, bone weary pain throughout his body, and he felt Derek’s desperation.

“Stiles!” Derek gasped, opening his eyes and shifting restlessly.

“Right here. You’re fine, I’m fine. We’re all good.”

Derek grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him down on top of him, other arm encircling his waist and gripping him tightly. He pressed their cheeks together, breathing deeply through his nose, getting his scent to the bottom of his lungs. They clung together and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut against the threat of tears.

“Stiles,” Allison said, her hand on his shoulder. He pulled back, taking in the grim scene around him. “Stiles, you need to call your dad.”

“What? Why?”

“Because unless you know how to make bodies disappear, this is a crime scene, and we need him to cover for us.” She held a dripping dagger in her right hand, and she had a scrape across her cheek, but otherwise looked unruffled. Scott was helping Isaac reset his shoulder- it looked extremely painful for both of them. Lydia was sitting against the wall, staring into the distance. Bodies lay scattered haphazardly and the smell of magic permeated everything and -was that a hand by Scott’s foot? Stiles shuddered. Oh god. The weight of reality settled on him and he felt a crushing guilt and undirected rage. His friends had defended him and Derek- absolutely _slaughtered_ for them- making them killers even more times over, and he didn’t do anything. He didn’t _get_ to do anything.

“Right.” He called his dad and sat beside Derek who was curled on his side, resting. He stroked Derek’s face absent-mindedly, oblivious to the looks he was getting from Isaac and Allison.

“He says to get out. Take the weapons, and he’ll take everything care of everything else. Also, he said he’s never doing this again, so we have to be more careful next time, which I roll my eyes at because, seriously, I’d say we _were_ careful. The building is still standing, that’s gotta count for something.”

Scott helped Derek out of the warehouse and they all ended up back at Stiles’ house. Stiles putted around cleaning things as he came down from the adrenalin high. He was twitching a bit more than usual, and the anger he harbored was simmering just under the surface of his skin. He felt like he was sitting on the edge of a cliff, legs swinging in the air, ready to push off and fall at any moment.

“Stiles, come on,” Lydia prodded, ushering him into the living room. Derek sat in an armchair with a blanket and a mug of hot cocoa. He looked exhausted. Scott, Allison and Isaac were on the couch. Stiles sat on the floor by Derek’s legs, shifting and fidgeting restlessly.

Scott stared at him, like he was hoping Stiles would just begin talking. When he didn’t, Scott prompted, “All I saw was you and Lydia getting thrown into the wall, so… what happened? Why did he take Derek?”

Stiles rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “A werewolf killed one of his coven members. I don’t know why he thought it was us, but maybe we’re the only werewolves he knows. He didn’t say anything else to support his claims, and I didn’t get a chance to find out. But yeah. Nobody went out and killed a witch did they?”

“You mean besides an hour ago? No. We were all around here all day.”

“It was probably a random omega. They’re unstable, they’ll kill anyone,” Derek added.

“God,” Stiles moaned, holding his head in his hands, “We just wiped out a coven over a misunderstanding. Karma’s gonna kick our asses.”

“It was the only option,” Allison said consolingly, “They were beyond reason at that point. I wasn’t going to wait for him to kill any of you.”

Stiles offered a small smile.

“Thank you. I still don’t know what happened, but thank you,” Derek said to the room with sincere gratitude. No one knew how to handle that, so silence fell over them.

They all broke apart not long after that, Allison offering to take Lydia home, Scott and Isaac leaving for Scott’s together, and Stiles helping Derek to his room- which was a job because Stiles suspected Derek wanted to lean on him more than was strictly necessary. After ensuring Derek was comfortable and quickly on his way to a deep sleep, he gathered the clothes Derek intended to launder and closed the door gently behind him.

He went through the motions of doing laundry, showering, and getting ready for bed and tried to ignore the images flashing in his head- Derek bound and helpless, Sam’s sneer, the arrow slicing into his throat, Derek falling to the floor unconscious, the lifeless hand ripped from its arm. He pushed them all out of his head and snuggled into bed, absolutely determined have one good night of sleep.

 

….

He couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned, put on some music, watched youtube videos, read a textbook. He couldn’t do it; sleep would not come. His eyes refused to droop.

He pulled on jeans and a hoodie in the dark, and set out for the nemeton without thinking about it. He wasn’t even sure what he needed, he just knew that Charlie could help him.

He parked a ways off, enjoying the crisp air, seeing easily by the light from the nearly-full moon. He was eager to see Charlie, to ask him about what he could really do. Charlie’s ways of communication weren’t the clearest, but Stiles still thought it was better than Deaton most of the time.

He reached the clearing and immediately realized his mistake.

“Shit,” he frowned, wondering if he had anything Charlie might like as an offering in his Jeep. He began the trip back, eyes to the ground when he caught the scent of burning ozone. He tried not to panic, searching the area in the dim light. Maybe it was a fluke, he told himself, and kept walking, fighting the urge to run.

“Stiles,” a smooth voice said from behind.

Stiles jumped and whirled clutching his chest. He breathed through the wild beating of his heart, forcing back the clench in his stomach.

“Peter! Holy batman, dude! You scared the crap out of me.”

“I apologize. You seem well,” Peter said- was he… disappointed? He looked over Stiles in a calculating way, assessing. He felt like a piece of meat being judged for its quality.

“Besides the mild heart attack I’m great,” he said rolling his eyes. He slowly turned again to go back to his Jeep when Peter said nothing else. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, besides frightening innocents?”

Stiles heard the crunch of leaves under Peter’s feet as he moved behind him. His senses were in overdrive now, picking up the fading magic smell but more prominently the smoothness of Peter’s scent. He’d never smelled him before, but it was unmistakable- rich and deep, but also sharp.

“I should ask you the same.”

Stiles snorted. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“You suffer from insomnia as well?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda an ongoing issue when you’re on pills all the time. Especially when you forget to take one. But what are you doing out here?”

“Stroll in the moonlight.”

Stiles couldn’t exactly hear his heartbeat, but he still knew that was a lie. He glanced back to see Peter offer him a small smile. He had spent more time at the loft over the summer- not consistently, or anything- but he’d gotten a bit more comfortable around Peter. He was still creepy as fuck though.

They reached his Jeep and he rooted around in the back, upper body leaning inside. He sensed Peter move around to the back behind him. He really didn’t want to know if Peter was staring at his ass, so he focused on finding something suitable for an offering.

“You shouldn’t go walking around in the woods by yourself.”

“Yeah, well, everyone else was asleep. I didn’t plan on being out here long anyway, so…”

“You really…” Peter stepped closer, “shouldn’t go by yourself.”

“Wha-” Stiles began to turn, but Peter wrapped his arms around Stiles’ head, putting him into a chokehold, a hand covering his mouth and squeezing his nose. He tried using his elbows, shifting his weight to throw him, and prying his hands off, but Peter sunk his elongated teeth into the side of his neck and he instinctively went still. His lungs were burning, and his knees felt weak. Peter was supporting him fully, the toes of his shoes dragging as Peter shifted him around. The blood trickling down his neck cooled quickly in the night air, and his eyes began to tunnel. He reached weakly with his mind, calling to Charlie, to Derek, to anyone, but it was swallowed in darkness before the thought was formed.

…

Being unconscious counted as sleep right? Stiles winced, rolling out the stiffness in his neck from lying on the cold warehouse floor. Brown walls, no windows, one long garage light overhead, and the smell of oil and gasoline were his only hints as to his location. He felt dirty and his shoulders ached. His hands were tethered by paracord looped through a hook welded to the floor. He couldn’t say how long he’d been there, but most of his body ached with cold.

Stiles felt like a caged animal. The one door was closed, and there was nothing in the room with him, save the dust blanketing the floor. He rolled his neck and shoulders and winced- oh yeah, Peter fucking bit him. Jerk. His shirt was stiff with dried blood across his shoulder and down his back.

His brain was fuzzy. He couldn’t be sure if it was because he’d passed out or because he’d now missed a dose of Adderall. He wasn’t even sure that he needed the medication anymore, but withdrawal was a very real threat, one he didn’t want to come up against right now, especially when he was being held captive, his hands were tied, and he had to pee.

Peter opened the door. “Stiles,” he greeted, small quirk to his mouth.

“Hey asshole,” Stiles chirped, sitting back against the wall with his bound wrists between the vee of his legs.

Peter smiled and his eyes crinkled as they bore into Stiles’. “Sleep well?”

“Fuck you.”

Peter chuckled, ambling further into the room. “I can smell the fear on you.” He paused, giving Stiles a long look. “But then again, you always smell like that around me.”

Peter leaned on the wall adjacent and sighed. Stiles could already feel the buzzing in his hands building. He wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he figured releasing a ridiculous amount of energy straight at Peter’s head would do the trick.

“How long do you think it will take before Scott and Derek turn on each other?”

“What?” Like, really, what?

“They’ve been getting along for the most part, but what do you think it would take for them to rip the other’s throat out? Really think about that. I want your opinion.”

Stiles did not want to think about that, but his brain wasn’t really listening to him right now. It was true that they had been getting along, like pack, especially recently. But not that long ago Stiles knew Scott had still been fairly untrusting of Derek. Derek seemed to give Scott more credit, more deference and respect than he had before, but how much of that was honest and how much of that was simply because Scott was the Alpha? Their situation was far from volatile, but if there were something to drive them apart… Stiles could imagine it happening, but not what could cause it.

“Is that your plan? Make them kill each other? What’s the point?”

Peter smiled smugly. “The point, is I get what I want. I want your answer, what would make them turn on the other?”

Stiles gave Peter a long, hateful stare.

“I don’t know. Something they both are really invested in. Something they both care about, I guess.”

Peter smiled slowly. “They don’t give you enough credit,” Peter murmured as he began to pace across the room, “I always knew you were the clever one; I should have bit you that night.”

Stiles wasn’t sure which night he was talking about. Not like it mattered now, he was thoroughly bitten.

“You know, I was reluctant to undertake all this, but I think you’ve changed my mind. I think it’s going to be… fun,” Peter said smiling. “Don’t bother with those-” he pointed to the rope tying his wrists down, “as I’m sure you don’t want to die of asphyxiation by wolfsbane. I know exactly what can kill you and wolfsbane is one of those things, and it’s laced all through that cord.” As an afterthought on his way out the door he added, “I’ll bring you a bucket and some water in a while; wouldn’t want you to go without creature comforts.”

Stiles wanted to kick himself. Why didn’t he take the opportunity to explode Peter when he had it? God, the lack of meds must have been messing with him more than he thought.

He sat for a long time, wondering how to escape. Maybe instead of exploding the rope he could somehow cut it? He didn’t have anything sharp on him, but maybe he could fashion some magical scissors? He discarded that knowing that he really had no control over how the magic manifested itself. Maybe… he could explode the floor? But how to do that without affecting himself or the deadly rope?

He tried feeling the deeper connection to Charlie, but it was like it didn’t exist. The buzzing would begin in his hands, and he would look inward for that otherness, the grounding, but no matter how long he searched, he couldn’t find it. Blame it on the lack of meds, sleep, frustration, the ever-increasing need to pee; it didn’t matter, he couldn’t do it. He still craved Charlie’s presence- he’d not gotten his fix the night before.

He contorted himself in different positions, and found if he twisted and laid on his back with his arms above his head he could stretch out his shoulders and back. His muscles ached sweetly in the stretch, and he savored the relief. He arched his back, pushing up through his heels- and of course that was the moment that Peter walked in again.

He dropped his hips and scrambled to sitting. Peter barely spared him a glance as he rolled a bottle of water and bucket over to him. Stiles strained to see out the door, but it was shrouded in darkness. Peter left without a word. Stiles sighed, nudging the bucket to him with his foot, one inch at a time. At least he could pee. It was awkward as hell, but he managed.

He laid on the floor and sipped the water, trying to ration it out. How long was Peter planning on keeping him there?

He thought back to when Gerard had held him captive and beaten him. No one had noticed his absence then, maybe they wouldn’t this time either. Whatever Peter had planned, he doubted it was waiting for someone to notice he was gone… Although he had left his phone in his room, that was pretty suspicious. Hopefully Derek would realize something was amiss, hopefully he would go to Scott immediately, get the whole pack involved in finding him. But where would they look? He wasn’t even sure how he ended up here. Was his Jeep still in the woods? And if they found the Jeep where would they look after that? God, he was getting a headache.

He tried to find a comfortable position and drifted.

Time passed. The water was gone. He was sweating, but his hoodie was already discarded, caught around his wrists. His heart was beating a little too quickly and he couldn’t stop the slight shaking in his hands. His concentration was shot and when he would drift off, he heard indistinct murmurings that sounded like the witches when they were throwing their magic. To top it all off, he had a horrific headache.

He’d had a crash before, but this was way worse. Maybe stress was contributing to his symptoms? He was beginning to get really hungry. Had he even eaten dinner last night? Oh yes, eggs. That felt like ages ago. He had no idea how long he’d been there, but it felt very long. His wrists and shoulders ached, and no position was comfortable.

Peter hadn’t returned. Did he forget about him? Maybe he was dead already and now no one could find him. Oh shit. Maybe he’d just die here, alone, forgotten, of dehydration. He’d never see his dad again. Or Derek or Scott or Lydia or Allison or Isaac or anyone. He’d never get to tell Derek how he felt, never do those things that Charlie had shown him.

He laid on his side with his hoodie balled under his head and let the tears leak out. He laid there and mourned the life he didn’t expect to have.

….

He finally put his finger on the reason for the nagging feeling in his chest when he walked downstairs and it felt cold. He listened closely but he could only hear John’s heartbeat. A quick glance out the window showed Stiles’ Jeep was missing.

Derek had been hoping… well, he wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping, but he wanted to talk to Stiles. About… something. His memory was a little fuzzy about the previous day. He remembered talking to Stiles in the kitchen, watching the musical way his pale hands danced in the air, capturing one in his own, feeling the rapid beat of Stiles’ heart through the thin skin of his wrist.

Derek couldn’t say that he was fully aware of his actions over the past few weeks. When he left Beacon Hills he’d been focused on fleeing. He didn’t want to see anyone- see their pitying or indifferent faces, hear their questions, make up excuses. He just didn’t want to be there any longer. Getting Cora settled into another pack was an afterthought. She had opened up, just barely, about what she’d done with her life- something about a pack up north- and it was decided. She didn’t deserve to be treated to the horrors he’d seen in his short time back. She’d always seemed like the sensitive one when she was younger; sweet but knowledgeable, empathetic but not gullible. Now… he wasn’t really sure what she was. The drive had been long but not uncomfortable in their silence. It took some time to find the pack, and they were suspicious at first. After Cora explained in halting words, the alpha (a sympathetic female, small, but obviously underestimated) welcomed her back. It was an unspoken agreement that Derek could stay, but he couldn’t say he felt any connection to them.

It was cooler there. The September air was moist but brisk, especially at that altitude. He took long runs in the mornings. He could breathe, he could turn off the destructive churn of his mind, and let his body do all the work.

Scott’s occasional correspondence wasn’t unwelcome, but Derek really didn’t have anything to say to him. He was done trying to get on his good side- Scott had won. He was Alpha, a truer one than Derek had ever been, not born out of blood and sacrifice, but perseverance and whatever else the hell it meant. He didn’t care. He tried to bond with his new packmates, but it was strange being a beta again, to be a part of a pack and not a rag-tag group of kids.

On his runs he often let his mind drift to whatever it liked, and one morning as the sun was rising above the horizon, its hazy light filtering through the pine needles, he pondered Stiles’ text from the previous day. It wasn’t strange for Stiles to text him- they had a few times over the summer- but it had been the first time since he left. Their… relationship (could it be called friendship?) wasn’t really based on verbal communication. At least on Derek’s end. Derek had always used his body language to send messages and Stiles was adept at reading him. Texting was not a hardship, but it was certainly more difficult to communicate his meaning.

Thinking about Stiles always made him uneasy, his stomach clenching and thoughts derailing. Stiles was the only one without a familial connection that he didn’t mind being around. Most everyone annoyed him to some degree, but Stiles was different- his banter filled up the empty space in his head that threatened to consume him, and when they became more comfortable in each other’s presence, Stiles’ silence did the same. Maybe it was a combination of hearing his heartbeat and the sweet and sour of Stiles’ scent that calmed him, but no matter; the morning mist and beautiful country felt empty without it.

…

Walking back into Stiles’ room after months away from it felt like stepping back in time. It felt right. Which made him uneasy. He frowned, taking in the typical mess, Stiles hunched over his laptop, noted Stiles’ sallow skin and dark eyes, and made his way to the bed. He leafed through the red notebook laying there, stumbling and catching over the shocking words- ravaged, bloodied, lifeless, echoing, stench, crucified.

“You didn’t tell me they were this graphic,” he accused, horrified that Stiles had recorded it all in such vivid detail. Stiles brushed it off, but Derek was disturbed.

He watched Stiles descend the stairs with his usual air of clumsiness and enthusiasm, and he was happy that Stiles could still be himself even while being terrorized by visions. Stiles opened the front door and Derek immediately noticed the uptick in Stiles’ heart.

“Stiles-” Stiles shoved him back. He was shaking but his muscles were stiff in fear, and he was taking quick shallow breaths. His scent turned sharp and acrid. He was obviously terrified. Derek stood for a moment, wondering how he could help. His hackles rose, even though he knew there was no immediate danger that he could fight.

“Stiles. Stiles, you need to breathe okay? Slow it down.” He spoke in soft tones, attempting to be reassuring. Stiles slowly returned to his normal scent of anxious/amphetamines/teenage sweat. His face was whitewashed, lips dry and chapped. This Stiles was so incongruous to Derek’s vision of him in his head, it almost physically hurt. The feeling of helplessness, of being totally useless nagged at him, and he wished more than anything that Stiles wouldn’t have to resort to turning.

…

“Derek!” Peter said with a smile a second too late. The air around him became charged. Peter was upset.

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence? Sick of the mountain air? Cora driving you nuts yet? I found her silence quite off-putting myself,” Peter said sharply as he walked further into the loft. The pale morning sunlight faintly illuminated his features, giving him a skeletal look, all highlights and shadows.

“No, I wanted to see how you were. I realized I left without saying goodbye.”

Peter pressed his lips together. “I survived. I don’t expect my nephew to look after me like some decrepit old man. Are you here to see Scott? See if he’ll let you into his ‘pack?’” The air quotes were used with amusement, but Derek could only stare.

“Or are you here to see Argent? He’s too soft now… I think I liked him better before.” Peter plopped down on the couch, but the tension was still there. When Derek said nothing, Peter changed tactics.

“I heard Stiles isn’t doing well… sounds like he’s having hallucinations? Panic attacks and fainting spells and nightmares? Dreadful. Just dreadful.” Peter looked off into middle distance, seemingly indifferent to Derek’s reaction. “I hate to see him suffer. Perhaps if I had gotten to him instead of Scott…”

Derek growled, surprising himself. Peter glanced at him, smiling. “Doesn’t matter much now, does it? Maybe I should pay him a visit, see if he needs anything…”

“Don’t you dare go near him,” Derek ground out. Peter stared knowingly into Derek’s eyes, flat and cold. “You won’t touch him.”

Peter quirked a brow, “No, but I’m sure you will enough for the both of us.”

Derek scowled and growled all the way out the door and down to his car. He struggled to pull back the fangs. He wanted nothing more than to _make_ Peter stay away. At the same time, he wanted to get his hands on Stiles, rub his scent into his skin, meld them together until their scents blended into a new fragrance.

Rationally, he knew that Peter wouldn’t hurt Stiles. Peter had changed since he’d been back. He’d been more compassionate, more real. He was sure that Peter was just upset Derek hadn’t thought of Peter before he left. Peter was first and foremost his uncle and he liked to poke at Derek’s weak spots. Peter and Stiles had grudgingly become something like snarky siblings, and Peter knew Derek didn’t like it.

….

He drove to Stiles’ house, needing the reassurance of Stiles’ presence. Stiles in soft, sleepy compliance made Derek’s chest ache with fondness. He could hardly stop himself from touching, smelling him, breathing him in and letting the anger and tension slip from his bones. He indulged in their closeness. Stiles’ eyes were open and awake, a deep amber. He looked more rested than he had yesterday. He watched Stiles’ eyes track over his body, pupils widening, losing focus. His smell turned darker, sweeter. His breath left his mouth over wetted lips, and Derek’s heart beat faster in response. Something was changing. Or maybe it already had, and he was only now realizing it.

….

Stiles glowed in the moonlight. He had a certain kind of beauty in stillness, a fleeting thing, because Stiles was one of movement and action. His scent was only slightly anxious, more excited and anticipatory. It set Derek on edge.

He didn’t know what to expect out of this evening, but he certainly didn’t expect to see Talia. His mother looked young. Strong. Beautiful. Her dark hair trailed behind her as she led Derek into the woods, a small bundle of food with them. Her scent hit him like a punch to the gut and he wanted to cry. He ached with missing her. Every member of his pack felt like a hole torn out of his flesh, but his mother was his alpha. It was like his compass lost its magnetic pull and he was wandering out in the forest by himself, the woman beside him only a ghost.

Wrenching from vision to vision truly pissed him off. It hurt. He’d never really enjoyed the touch of magic and Charlie bathed in it. The only thing that pissed him off more was seeing what he dreaded come true in that vision- Stiles’ eyes flashing light blue. The fight was over. The human Stiles was as good as gone.

…

“Scott, is Stiles with you? He left his phone here.”

“No. I haven’t talked to him since last night.”

Derek frowned. It was after 8pm, Stiles didn’t have his phone, and he’d been gone all day.

“Can you text everyone, see if they know where he is? His Jeep’s gone.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s really weird. When’d he leave?”

“I don’t know, he was gone when I got up this morning.”

John walked into the living room, finishing up his uniform and waited for Derek to hang up.

“Where’d Stiles get off to?”

Derek shrugged. “He’s probably with Lydia or at the library or something. He forgot his phone here.”

John shook his head, smiling. “That kid. Tell him to call me when he gets home.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, son.”

Derek twitched at the moniker, but decided not to think about it. A restless hour later and streaming texts of ‘not with so-and-so’ he had to get out. He changed, stuck his phone in his pocket, and ran.

The preserve was quiet, cool, dusty. The full moon was tomorrow. After that, Halloween. Stiles hadn’t mentioned any plans, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up at Lydia’s. Or maybe they’d just stay in and pass out candy… He’d like that.

He neared the nemeton without consciously heading towards it. It felt empty. But for some reason he slowed and walked around it, circling it warily. Charlie’s shadow didn’t appear. He stood there for some time, just feeling. He felt no thrum of magic. No smell of electricity. He ran on, turning off his brain, his worries, for just a while longer.

…

Stiles smelled… different. Not incredibly different, but his scent was deeper, richer, more robust. It had more tang and array of notes, like the bite had set off a sort of trigger in him and now he was a walking air freshener. Derek thought he was in tune with Stiles’ scent and how it related to his emotions, but now it was like… he could tell what Stiles was nervous about, how quickly Derek’s proximity turned his scent dark and musky with arousal, and Derek couldn’t deny that he was becoming enamored with that scent.

Putting his hands all over Stiles’ skin shorted his brain. He promptly went offline when Stiles began pushing his hips into his groin. The arousal was secondary to the feeling of possessiveness. He wanted to claim, to mark. He was full of Stiles, surrounded in him, drenched in his smell. He wanted to taste.

“Stiles!” John had shouted.

It was like being awoken from a dream too abruptly. Reality shut the door in his face. He sulked at Stiles’ desk, stamping down his obvious arousal, angry at himself for losing control. Stiles may be attracted to him, but he was young. He didn’t know what he wanted. Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted when he was that young. Well, he thought he had, and that had been the poorest decision of his life.

He wouldn’t give Stiles the chance to make that mistake.

…

Derek fell asleep around 2am, phone in his hand, awaiting news from Scott in hopes that he’d heard from Stiles. The morning revealed no new messages, and Stiles wasn’t in his room. He really didn’t want to do what he was about to do, but he and Scott a search team did not make. It had officially been 24 hours, and John needed to know.

He wasn’t happy about being woken only a few hours after falling asleep, but he was alert and drilling Derek for details as soon as the coffee brewed. Derek told him all he could, including their showdown with the Holden Coven. He gave him Stiles’ phone and laptop even though he hadn’t found anything of use on it. John scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing deeply, but quickly drew himself up and told Derek to keep an eye out and call if he heard anything or thought of anything else.

He was glad to leave the bulk of the worry on John’s shoulders, but he still felt unsettled, like a wandering itch beneath his skin. He had to move. He had to do something.

He ran to Deaton’s office. Scott was already there with Isaac, Allison, and Lydia. Lydia looked ragged, worn and blotchy. He listened to their theories; Scott asking questions, Isaac asking the same questions, Allison prompting Lydia out of her stupor to contribute. Derek didn’t have any theories beyond a coven member, or yet another rouge omega. He couldn’t recall how they got there, but soon it was decided that Derek would go to the coven’s homebase and seek out any remaining members. Allison wasn’t aware of any hunters in the area, but she would talk to her dad. Scott and Isaac would search the town for any sign of him, and Lydia… did they ever decide what Lydia would do? Derek didn’t know, but he was already out the door with directions from Deaton on how to find Holden base.

….

Kissing Stiles was already so different from kissing anyone else. Beyond the weird mind connection thing happening, he’d never kissed anyone so genuine and responsive. Stiles’ hands were in his hair, on his neck, shoulders, back, constantly moving, scrapping his nails over his skin. He tasted like magic- sharp but airy- and yet still like he imagined Stiles would taste. He was open to Derek, pressing along him, and Derek took. Stiles’ consciousness pushed against his, and he knew Stiles’ desperation for reciprocation, needed to know Derek truly cared. He pushed back- of course he cared, he cared too much, too much to be good for Stiles. Stiles radiated acceptance, taking him in further, taking him deeper, making it hotter. He felt and responded and ached and dragged his lips along Stiles’ neck and ground against him. It had never felt like this. It wasn’t rushed or shameful; it wasn’t muted by pain, it was hot and eager and _real._

…

It was a dead end. There wasn’t anyone left, or if there were, they didn’t stick around. When he reported back to Deaton and Scott, they looked more worried. It had officially passed the 48 hour mark. Scott and Isaac hadn’t found a trace of Stiles or his Jeep. Derek hadn’t eaten or slept for the past day and he was physically sick with worry. What if Stiles was already dead?

No. Scott would know if he were dead. He would feel it.

Scott gave him long looks full of … something. Pity? Sympathy? Derek didn’t care. He just wanted to find him. Maybe Scott didn’t look hard enough.

He searched all day, checking ravines on the side of the road- it didn’t have to be an attack, Stiles had gotten into wrecks before- searching around his old house, and throughout the preserve. He could have fallen somewhere…

The police force didn’t have any leads. John looked haggard when Derek brought him dinner.

“Thanks,” John said, pushing aside papers on his desk, “Don’t know if I can eat right now though.”

“Me neither. Thought if you could do it, I could too.”

John smiled a sad smile, eyes tearing.

“Yeah. Hear anything at all?”

Derek glanced around and lowered his voice. “Coven is a dead end. He could have as easily been taken as gone off on his own or he could just be on the side of the road somewhere without gas. We don’t know.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. But where would he go?”

Derek frowned, thinking of Cora.

“I don’t know.”

Later that night, he drove past small children in costumes and his chest ached, like claws slowly tearing out his lungs. Crushing, like Sam’s magic in the warehouse. Hopeless.

He drove to the woods. He parked and walked slowly, pushing out every thought, every feeling that came over him. He focused on the sounds and smells around him, on the cool air touching his skin, making it pebble. He walked on, leaving the stress behind him. Wallowing and focusing on the problem would not help find Stiles. A clear head would.

He breathed deeply, filling his lungs, ribcage expanding. He froze.

Stiles.

That was definitely the smell of Stiles. His heart picked up. Was he near? Was he hurt? He’d already searched these woods, how had he not found him before? He followed the scent at a breakneck pace, pushing himself, hoping to god that Stiles wasn’t hurt too badly.

The smell was strongest here- but where was Stiles? He spun around, only seeing trees and small undergrowth. He closed his eyes and focused on the scent. He followed it, letting his nose lead the way. He went to his knees, rooting around with nostrils flared. He pushed aside leaves, growling to himself, huffing when he found nothing.

He came to a fallen log. The smell was so strong. He scrambled to push aside leaves, nails scratching against the bark. He found a jacket. Stiles’ jacket. It was torn, bloodied, ripped off in haste.

His gut clenched. Had he been here? Was he taken from here or was his body somewhere near? Oh god, not his body.

He brought the jacket to face, breathing deep and trying to hold back stunned tears. He caught scent of a werewolf on the fabric… it was familiar…

Scott.

Scott?

Scott.

He lifted his face to the moon and howled.

….

Three days later, Derek carried a black bag into the woods by the old Hale house. He glanced around suspiciously, checking for anyone that may be watching him. He laid the long bag down and began digging by Laura’s former grave. He worked for an indeterminate time, sweating despite the cool night air.

He sensed Peter before he spoke.

“Who are you burying today? Another teenager die under your watch?”

Derek dug angrily, spearing the hard packed dirt with as much force as he could. He stayed focused on his task at hand.

“The ones you took under your wing were the ones that needed you the most. And yet…” Peter sighed, “they ended up dead _because_ of you. Is that ironic or just sad?”

“What do you want Peter?” Derek huffed, trying not to feel the sting from Peter’s words.

“Do I have to want anything? Maybe I want to help. Looks like you could use a hand.”

He hopped down into the shallow grave and took the shovel from Derek’s blistering hands.

“Who is it?” Peter asked, nodding at the body bag.

“Scott.” Derek sat in front of the body and his face crumpled in guilt.

Peter blanched.

“Scott McCall? You killed him?”

Derek put his elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I didn’t mean to. Things got out of hand. I just… I thought he had something to do with Stiles’ disappearance and we argued and… The loft is torn up by the way. Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine. And Stiles is still missing? That’s strange. I saw his Jeep just yesterday.”

“What?” Derek’s head popped up.

“I saw it parked behind a building yesterday. I didn’t realize he was still missing, or else I would have contacted the police.”

“Let’s go- take me there. We have to find him.”

“Alright- what about...” Peter said, motioning to the body.

“He’s not going anywhere.”

….

Derek called Lydia and told her the address Peter was leading him to. It was ten long minutes outside of town by the way of dirt roads. No wonder they hadn’t found Stiles before now.

They arrived at an old shack just off the road. They got out and circled around the building.

“You saw his Jeep here?”

“Yes. It is odd that it was here though… Perhaps it was stolen?”

“Maybe…” Derek said distractedly, trying to get any sort of scent off the surroundings. Was Stiles actually in there?

Allison pulled up in a black SUV and she and Isaac and Lydia climbed out.

“Where’s Scott?” Allison asked.

“He didn’t answer his phone,” Derek said after a moment of hesitation. “Let’s check inside and into the woods, I don’t want to miss anything.”

They searched, exchanging nods, but ultimately didn’t find anything. They came together an hour later, huddling inside the shack. Lydia glanced around outside the doorway before stepping in.

“If he was here, it was too long ago to leave a trace,” Isaac said.

“Maybe this was the wrong place…” Peter said, looking at the floor with a furrowed brow.

“What?” Derek growled, “This isn’t the right place?”

“I can’t be sure. There are a lot of outbuildings around here.”

“Cut the crap. We know you took him.” Lydia stood up straight, lifting her chin. “Just tell us where he is.”

Peter furrowed his brow in confusion. “What did you just accuse me of?”

“Kidnapping. At the very least. We know you took him and we’re tired of waiting to get him back. Tell us where he is.”

“I don’t know why you would think that; why would I possibly want to take Stiles?” Peter held out his palms in supplication.

“Does it really matter? We know you did it.” Lydia crossed her arms as if she were waiting for Peter to deny it.

“I don’t know where you’re getting this from,” Peter said as he slowly walked toward the door. Everyone moved in sync with him. “I would never harm Stiles. He’s like a son to me.”

Derek scoffed. Peter’s gaze caught on his. “You don’t think so? We spent an awful lot of time together this past summer, remember, oh nephew mine?” Peter was to the door now.

“I remember. I remember Stiles saying just last week that he didn’t trust you,” Derek answered.

Peter’s eyes narrowed, looking at each of them. “Well, you’ll never find him now.”

Peter swung open the door and threw himself towards the opening and promptly fell backwards. A blue light flared and dimmed in the doorway.

Peter snarled, whipping around. They collectively stiffened, preparing to fight. Derek saw Lydia smirk.

“This wasn’t part of the plan. However,” Peter’s claws began extending, face morphing as he sneered, “I can be flexible. I guess I’ll have to move the itinerary up.” He lunged for Lydia’s throat, but Derek crashed into him, knocking him sideways. Peter began ripping into Derek’s abdomen. Derek howled in pain, wolfing out himself. He grabbed Peter’s head and began banging it against the concrete floor. Isaac joined the fray, grabbing Peter’s arms and holding them above his head. Allison crouched down, injecting something into Peter’s neck. He thrashed, but soon his efforts became weaker. They propped him up against a wall and his eyes lolled in their sockets.

“Where is Stiles?” Lydia asked evenly, crouching down in front of Peter.

Peter’s eyes searched and finally found purchase on her face.

“Why do you care?" His head rolled to the side and he sneered. "You fucking him yet? You know he’s gagging for it-” Lydia slapped him across the face.

“Where is he?” Lydia asked again, deadly calm.

“You won’t find him. He’s probably dead already.” Peter’s fingers twitched uselessly against his legs. Derek could smell Peter- like cloves and faintly of magic- but now he smelled acrid. What had they dosed him with? Whatever it was, it wasn’t agreeing with Peter’s chemistry.

“You need to tell me where he is, or I will kill you.”

Peter laughed from his throat. “I think you mean, ‘tell me where he is AND I will kill you. Don’t lie, it makes you ugly.”

“You would know,” Isaac chirped.

“Oh my, Derek, your little one is so clever. Do you train them in the art of insults as well? Laura would be proud.”

“Where is he Peter?!” Lydia practically screamed into his face.

Peter looked into her eyes, and his breathing became labored.

“You’re so easily led,” Peter whispered. “You think you’re this strong person, but you… you are a tool. A means to an end. You think everyone wants you, but really, everyone just wants to use you. You’re nothing, and not even Stiles would care if you were gone, because all he wanted was your cu-”

Lydia stood and her hair lifted away from her body, wind whipping through her blouse. Derek could feel the goosebumps on his arms rise as the temperature plummeted. They all took a step back and watched in wonder as Peter was slowly lifted from the floor, chin in the hair, veins straining in his neck. He slid up the wall slowly, eyes wide in horror.

“You. Are wrong.” Lydia said with finality. Peter’s face reddened and his fingers scrabbled at his neck. Lydia was cutting off his air supply somehow.

Derek watched, unable to look away, as life slowly slipped away from Peter’s body.

…

“How the hell are we gonna find him now?” Scott whined. He’d come back on his bike just a few minutes after Lydia had killed Peter. (“Damn, I missed that?” he said when they explained what had happened.)

They walked towards the road as a group. Derek felt the beginnings of the crushing hopelessness seeping in, and he swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. Lydia gasped like she was in pain and doubled over, falling to her knees.

“Lydia,” Allison rushed to her side. “What’s wrong?”

She gasped again, bringing her head up. Her eyes were wide. “I know where he is.”

….

In Stiles’ experience time gave one perspective; rational thought that one did not possess previously. However, hindsight was not productive when one royally fucked up.

In one of his less lucid moments he’d come up with the brilliant idea of exploding the hook on floor and holding his breath just in case it burned the rope. He directed his aim to the welds and pulled the proverbial trigger. The exploding part went brilliantly. The welds broke, and he was free! However, the cord was most definitely on fire. Brilliant idiot that he was, he did what every person is trained to do in school as a young child-- stop, drop, and roll. He covered his face with his hands and the burning rope was smashed into the floor against his hoodie over and over again. At some point, he’d stopped holding his breath. He panicked, and ran to the door, hoping that fresh air would help. His heart was beating wildly and he was panting. His wrists were still bound together, but he could still turn the knob on the door and fling it wide, and ran into the dark hallway. He entered a large room with windows near the ceiling, a few stories up. The moon shone brightly, casting the cavernous space in bluish hue. He aimed for the closest door, not sure if it led outside, but before he could reach it, his legs gave out. He felt forward, falling awkwardly on his elbows, banging his right knee.

“Fuck!” He rolled to his side, rubbing his singing knee. Peter must not be around; he’d made a ridiculous amount of noise with his shenanigans. He coughed, hacking and wheezing as he crawled to the door. His limbs were weak, his lungs were burning, his throat was stinging with burnt wolfsbane. The door swung wide when he placed his hand on it, unconsciously releasing the energy built up in his hands. He dragged himself outside and gasped trying to take in any air. His vision was growing dimmer. He placed his palms on the cold hard ground, sending his message out- calling to Charlie. He felt the connection respond, but he couldn’t stop coughing; he imagined his airways closing up like an asthmatic’s. Stiles thought of Scott’s inhaler on the forest floor, buried underneath wet leaves, imagined himself walking along and finding it there by his foot, picking up the thick smell of albuterol clinging to the casing. When he picked it up, Derek was there in front of him, staring at him like he did in January- cold, suspicious, menacing. His heart ached. He longed to see Derek smile. He smiled at Stiles before didn’t he? In his room, touching him, smiling, softness in his eyes. He thought of Derek’s lips on his forehead.

‘Stop smelling scared.’

 

….

An elephant was sitting on his chest.

He opened his eyes. Nothing was there. Not anything except an off-white blanket. He closed his eyes again and tried to breathe around the imaginary elephant sitting on his chest. He felt the elephant looking down at him in confusion. He frowned at it and wheezed.

“Stiles, son- Can I get a nurse in here?”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was like a tiny mouse compared to the monster on his torso. He struggled to pull in another breath. Beeping sounded. It made him nervous. He tried again to breathe, but the stupid elephant only shifted its weight around, looking at Stiles like it was his fault that he weighed so much.

He heard his dad talking urgently, and then the elephant shifted again, taking pressure off his chest. He breathed deeply and mentally flipped the elephant off. He drifted off to the sound of his dad talking to someone and the feeling of a hand running through his hair.

….

The next time he opened his eyes, it was dark. He took in the room around him, recognizing it as a Beacon Hills hospital room. On his left, his dad was conked out in a chair. He heard a rustling to his right. His head slowly obeyed him and turned to find Derek staring at him, eyes framed in weariness and dark smudges. He sucked in a quick breath, stunned by the expression on Derek’s face. It was so… worried. Absolutely terrified. Derek looked on the verge of tears.

His hand twitched, an aborted movement towards comfort. He tried to speak, but found himself unable. He gagged, then coughed, breaking eye contact, and struggled to regain control. Derek was quickly over him, eyes wide, telling him to stop fighting, don’t struggle, just breathe.

He calmed his breathing, but his heart was going crazy. He had an odd sensation of feeling weightless and very heavy at the same time, and he was overly aware of the sheets pressing into his skin. He stared at Derek’s face, trying to understand what he was doing here, why Derek was looking at him like that- brows furrowed, eyes so intense. A sound like a question mark escaped him, and Derek pressed his lips together, brows furrowing further. His hand, like a phantom limb, reached out, palm touching Derek’s cheekbone, thumb rubbing that spot between his eyebrows. Derek’s face softened.

He relaxed, satisfied by Derek’s compliance, and dropped his arm and closed his eyes. He heard the scrape of Derek’s chair, and then his hand was enveloped in both of Derek’s overly warm ones. Only half-conscious of his actions, he pushed all of his thoughts and questions and feelings through their physical contact. Stiles sensed Derek shaking and he opened his eyes in worry. Derek’s eyes were glazed, staring at their hands, and then- Stiles felt, sensed, _saw_ everything.

….

Stiles watched as Derek walked slowly to the nemeton, weariness emanating from his form, a torn and bloodied piece of clothing in his fist. So engulfed in his exhaustion, he visibly flinched when he came to the stump and saw a certain redhead there.

“Lydia.”

“Derek. Help me. Did Stiles do or say anything to get Charlie to come?”

Lydia looked frazzled. Her hair was pulled back, she was without makeup and her face seemed fixed in a shocked but angry state.

“No, he made an offering.”

“I did that!” She exclaimed, motioning to the items on the stump. “Where is he?”

Derek frowned. On the stump was a block of something with nuts on it, a porcelain teacup full of a dark liquid, and a hunk of honest-to-god honeycomb.

He reached out to the stump, placing a flat palm against the top. “Come here. Touch it and let’s call him.” She moved closer, incredulous look on her face, but she touched it.

No sooner had her hand make contact, and then Charlie was there, all around them. His inky shadow filled the clearing. Derek stiffened, but Charlie quickly reassured him, covering him in calm.

“Charlie,” Lydia whispered, almost choking on tears. “Charlie, make it stop.”

She bent over, forehead falling on her fists, silently shaking with sobs. Derek froze, obviously uncomfortable. Stiles felt the pull, but it was lessened. He watched Derek and Lydia fall into a vision, and saw the vision in tandem.

 

The vision showed him Peter. Peter outside of Stiles’ house. Peter grabbing some of Stiles’ clothes. Peter walking into the woods. The tone shifted- he could tell they were looking at the future now- he saw Peter’s sneer, heard a cut off laugh, saw Peter’s eyes go wide in terror, falling to the floor, clutching his throat.

Derek slumped forward, catching his breath. Lydia wiped her face, breathing in and out through her mouth, collecting herself. Charlie swirled anxiously around them.

“I have to kill him,” Lydia said with a soft determination.

“You don’t have to, I will.” Derek’s face was one of rage, a deep, white hot burning.

 

Stiles felt time move forward. The scene shifted to Derek’s loft.

“So, tell me again why you think this will work?” Scott grunted as he hit the brick wall.

Derek punched right by his head, crushing brick and mortar into his knuckles.

“Peter uses people.” Scott threw him into the couch, knocking it backwards.

“Yeah, I know that,” Scott said, grabbing the coffee table and smashing it against the concrete floor.

“And he uses circumstances to his advantage. If he can get us to kill each other then he won’t have to, and earns favor in the victor’s sight when he leads them to Stiles.”

“But Stiles doesn’t trust Peter and he’d hate either of us if we killed the other,” Scott reasoned, moving over to the desk. Together they punched through the top, making it crumble into halves- as if one of them had been thrown on it and beaten. “That wouldn’t work at all.”

“No, but it would get the whole pack in one place at one time and he could take us all out at once.”

“How would he do that?”

“I don’t know… but I’m sure he has a way planned.”

 

Stiles saw Lydia standing outside an old shack, watching Allison. Allison looked her way and nodded. Lydia quickly walked around the small building, holding a small sachet in one hand, and as she walked, a thin line of mountain ash trailed behind her.

 

Stiles saw himself. He was laying on the ground, not moving, lit faintly by the light of the moon. He was a spitting image of the hallucinations he’d had not long ago. He was wearing that red hoodie, covered in black soot, limbs akimbo, and utterly lifeless.

Derek, Scott, Isaac, Allison and Lydia rushed to him, and Derek checked his vitals. He leaned in close.

“He’s not breathing.” Derek pinched Stiles’ nose, tipped his head back and went for it. He immediately pulled back coughing.

“Wolfsbane, he’s drugged. Call Deaton,” Derek wheezed. “Allison, can you do-” Derek waved a hand, and Allison sprang into action, crouching where Derek was and took up where he left off.

Scott was talking to Deaton, and Lydia stood by, picking at her lip, staring at Stiles. Derek kept a hand on Stiles’ wrist, feeling his pulse.

“Deaton’s on his way. He said he didn’t think wolfsbane would be lethal to Stiles,” Scott said, dropping his phone into his pocket.

“Seems pretty damn near lethal,” Lydia said. She walked around, hands pressing against her head, like she was fighting something. She froze and looked at the ground. She glanced over- the others were still around Stiles. She stole into the warehouse, seemingly on the trail of something. Stiles watched as she explored. She stopped outside the corridor leading to the room where Stiles had spent his incarceration, and stared at the open doorway. Lydia walked slowly forward, touching the walls on either side of her, tracing the marks and runes written here and there. She only made it halfway down before backing up just as slowly as she had walked forward. Stiles watched, but he couldn’t make sense of it. She gave one last look at the open door and then returned to the others.

Allison was beginning to falter. She was shaking, half-sobbing. “I don’t think it’s working, it’s like the air isn’t going anywhere,” her voice wobbled and she exhaled into Stiles’ slack mouth again, and then once more.

“Please, just keep going. Deaton will be here soon,” Derek said in the most desperately hopeful voice Stiles had ever heard. His grip on Stiles’ wrist was most likely too tight. He wondered vaguely if he had bruises.

Stiles watched as they huddled around his body, tears falling down Allison’s cheeks dropping onto Stiles each time she bent down, Isaac hugging himself and running his hands up and down his arms in a self-soothing motion. Scott was crouched down, holding Stiles’ leg.  They all turned as a car pulled up, and Deaton rushed over.

The scene faded.

Stiles watched his Dad, watching him. His fingers were pressed to his mouth, eyes open and sad.

Stiles watched himself convulse, choke, gasp and wheeze against the apparatus in his mouth, taped over his nose. Stiles watched his father panic, watched as his body settled with the influx of new drugs, watched his father fight back a sob and hastily wipe away tears.

Stiles watched as Derek entered the room, taking in John’s sleeping form in the corner, and the sight of Stiles, small on the hospital bed, smaller still with so many tubes hooked to his face and body.

Stiles watched Derek watching him. Stiles watched Derek slowly break apart.

…

Stiles’ vision was blurred, Derek’s face a painting in watercolor. He blinked, tears falling, and squeezed Derek’s hand. He squeezed back.

….

 

 

“You lost my Jeep?!?”

“We didn’t lose it!”

“But you just said you don’t know where it is!”

“It’s been missing as long as you have Stiles! We literally have no clue where it is- Peter could’ve sold it or dumped it in a lake for all we know!”

Stiles pictured his baby at the bottom of a pond, overrun by fish and algae. He frowned. “So in the week I was gone, you nearly caused my dad to die over worry, you actually killed Peter again, and you lost my Jeep. Really productive.”

“We didn’t lose it!” Derek crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the hospital room. His glower quickly lost ire as Stiles struggled to zip up his jacket.

Derek came over to help him. “I assumed you'd be in the hospital longer than a week."

"Well, if you recall, I am not just a human anymore," Stiles smirked. Derek looked up and Stiles lost his train of thought. Derek's face was so close. He could see the flecks of color in his eyes, all mountains and valleys of green and blue.

Derek's hand skimmed up his arm, leaving tingles in its wake, and gripped the back of his neck. "I'm really glad you're not. We're all better off." His breath caught at the sincerity in his tone. Derek's thumb rubbed gently across a patch of skin on his nape.

“Ready to go?” his dad asked from the doorway. Derek dropped his hand but held his gaze.

“Yep,” Stiles breathed.

 

Back at the house, Stiles lounged on the couch while his dad tried his hand at dinner. Derek was sitting in the arm chair by him, staring at him instead of the movie playing softly in the background.

“Now that we’re away from _prying ears_ , can you tell me how you finally found me?” They hadn’t had the privacy they needed to discuss everything that had happened, no matter how often Stiles asked. Derek only ever said ‘later.’

“I think Lydia might explain it better than I could. She’s the one who knew where you were. We followed her.”

“Oh.”

“Your dad’s burning something. Be right back.” Derek went to the kitchen and Stiles grabbed his phone from the table. He began to type out a message to Lydia, but paused glancing at the date. He still couldn’t believe he’d lost that much time. He’d missed Halloween, missed a couple days of school… It was like he’d just skipped forward in time. It did feel like a long time that he’d been gone, but certainly not almost a week.

He finished his message to Lydia and pressed send.

“We’re ordering pizza,” Derek said as reclaimed his seat.

“Sweet. So, uh… with Peter gone, are you… um. What are your plans?” Stiles attempted to sound interested and not desperate.

 Derek searched his face for a long moment, then looked down to where his fingers were picking at the threads of the armchair. “I was thinking of finding an apartment, I can’t keep the loft. Too many…” He clenched his jaw and swallowed. “I’m gonna find a new place. I’ll try to be out of here by the end of the week.”

“Oh. Well, good, yeah. You need your own space for sure. Cool. Have you talked to Cora about it?”

“She’s happy where she is. She doesn’t need me.”

 _Like I do_ Stiles added in his head. His phone buzzed.

_Easier to explain in person. When can I come over? -Lydia_

Stiles smiled. “Derek, wanna go see Charlie tonight?”

…

 “I think Charlie had a lot to do with it. I knew you were missing before we all really knew… I’d been seeing things… And I don’t know if Charlie was showing them to me or not, but he did help me find you,” Lydia said.

Stiles stretched out on the ground near the stump, enjoying Charlie’s presence. It was overcast and a bit warmer than it had been as of late, and Stiles could just make out Derek and Lydia’s outlines in the darkness. Lydia poked at her phone, choosing an app to create ambient light. Charlie flit around them, happy to have their company. His corporeal body moved, but his connection to Stiles never wavered.

“How’d that work exactly?” Stiles asked.

Lydia looked to Derek. “After we trapped Peter, I…”

“Lost it?” Derek supplied.

Lydia glared but didn’t disagree. “He goaded me, and my temper got the best of me. I discovered some new things that I can do-”

“New things? Like what?” Stiles interrupted.

“She picked him up with her mind and choked him to death,” Derek answered. “To be honest, I think he was going to die anyway. He was allergic to whatever Allison injected him with.”

“Is that allergy specific to Peter or to all werewolves?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged. “We’re gonna need to talk to Deaton about that one.”

“Anyway,” Lydia cut in, “when we went outside something happened. I don’t really know how to describe it, but it was like a sound wave moving through me. Like a punch, but everywhere at the same time. And I didn’t see anything, but I just knew where you were. I could feel it in the ground, like following a trail to you.”

Stiles stared blankly for a moment processing that. “Huh.”

“I can’t explain it! But I’m pretty sure it was Charlie.”

“No, yeah, makes sense. I…” he trailed off thinking of the moments just before he’d passed out on the ground that night. He’d called Charlie to him, hadn’t he? Or had he somehow notified Lydia on his own, like a magic homing signal?

Who knew. Important part is that he was alive.

“I’m just really glad you found me,” Stiles tried to communicate his gratitude through his face, and Lydia gave him a small smile.

“So tell me how you did… the thing… with Peter?” Stiles asked, waving vaguely with his hands.

Lydia smiled and looked down. She shook her head. “I don’t really know how. I saw Peter die in one of Charlie’s visions-” she glanced again at Derek, “and then it was really happening, and I was the one making it happen, but I don’t know how.”

“Maybe… maybe we can find out. Work on this stuff-” he waved his hands around again, “together. We can help each other.”

Lydia looked at him for a long moment and smiled. “Yeah.”

He smiled in return. Charlie pressed in close, and he could feel Derek’s body heat to his left. Something settled inside him, like a warm glow.

“Did you see anything strange at the warehouse?” Stiles measured his words, not wanting to scare Lydia off. She looked at him for a long moment.

“Runes. Words. It felt wrong somehow.”

“Hmm.”

“What was it… did you feel strange when you were in there?”

Stiles tried to come up with words describing the unsettled feeling of being disconnected from not only humans but Charlie as well. “It was very strange. I didn’t feel like I had any sort of power. I was not thinking clearly, and I was in a lot of pain. Yeah, it was horrible.”

Derek’s hand combed through his hair.

“I think Peter was working with that coven. That’s how he secured that space, made it isolated. He probably killed a coven member himself,” Lydia said.

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what happened.” Derek stood, offering Stiles his hand. “You need to rest. Come on, let’s go.”

 

Stiles lay in bed for a long time, staring at the dark ceiling. His eyes began playing tricks on him. Swirls of purple and green undulated above him, making him dizzy and annoyed. He glared at them, but they kept moving.

His door clicked open.

If Stiles couldn’t see Derek moving across the room, he wouldn’t have known he was there, he was so silent. His heart sped in chest and thumped in his ears. Derek stopped by his bed and stared down at him.

“Are you trying to be a creeper?” Stiles croaked.

Derek huffed and began pulling back the comforter. “Let me in.”

Stiles shuffled over, turning on his side to face Derek. His smell enveloped him suddenly, and he reflexively took a long inhale, closing his eyes and focusing on the scent. His heart rate slowly returned to normal.

Derek lay on his back, tension outlining his body. Stiles consciously relaxed his muscles and sank further into the bed, trying to give off comforting vibes. Whatever he was nervous about, he shouldn’t be nervous about it in his bed.

Stiles was sure Derek wanted to talk to him, but the longer they lay there, the more Stiles thought he might be wrong. Did he just want company for sleeping?

“So… I’m not complaining, but um, why are you here?”

Stiles saw Derek’s eyelashes move as he blinked. His mouth made a clicking sound as he parted his lips and inhaled.

“I…” Derek began.

Stiles sniffed and adjusted his pillow.

“I… think we need to talk.”

Stiles blinked. “Okay. About what?”

“About… about,” Derek faltered, gesturing haltingly with his hands, “you know… stuff.”

“You mean, the mind thing?” Stiles guessed. “I don’t really know how that happened. I didn’t mean to do it. I’m really sorry, if you don’t or yeah, you didn’t want that to happen, I won’t do it again-well, I mean on purpose. I can’t guarantee I won’t do it on accident, but I’ll try-”

“No,” Derek said, cutting him off. “No, I mean, we should talk about… us. Us being an us. A... you know…” Derek huffed and covered his face with his hands. “Goddamnit Stiles, why are you being deliberately obtuse right now?”

“I’m not being obtuse! You have poor word choice! Do you want us to be an us?” Stiles felt his heart began to thump again against his will. He knew Derek could hear it.

“I thought we already were,” Derek whispered.

“Oh.” Stiles tried to think of anything he’d done or said that would have given that impression. “Oh.”

“Do… do you want us to be an us?” Derek asked softly, still staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Yes!” He said far too forcefully, and began nodding his head. “Yes, yes, definitely.”

“Right. Good.” Derek relaxed a fraction, but his fingers worried at the edge of the comforter.

A sinking dread settled around his midsection. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in here somewhere.”

Derek let out a long breath and took in another, chest rising. “What do we tell your father?”

“Uh…”

Stiles blanked for one second, then instantly saw Derek being run out of the house by his dad, shotgun aimed at Derek’s head. He saw himself pleading, saw Derek on his knees with his hands up, saw his Dad shouting, red in the face.

“We don’t need to tell him anything. He doesn’t need to know.”

Derek finally turned his head, locking onto him with dark eyes. “You’ll regret that.”

“Regret what?” Stiles asked faintly, overwhelmed by the intensity in Derek’s eyes.

“You’ve spent the past year not telling him what he needs to know. He needs to know this too.”

“Yeah,” he said, already feeling nervous.

“So what _do_ we tell him?”

Stiles sighed. “I don’t know. Let me think about it, okay? I know how to handle him, but I’ve never had a… uh… person before. Especially a man person. An older, slightly criminal man person. That also occasionally has fangs.”

Derek snorted and rubbed one hand over his face. Stiles felt unsettled. What now? Would Derek leave, did they discuss everything? Did Derek want to… do stuff?

“I talked to Cora tonight,” Derek said, and Stiles startled, breaking out of the fantasies playing in his mind. He pulled his knees up to his chest and cleared his throat.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. She said her alpha wants to visit.”

“Visit here? Why?”

“Most likely form an alliance. If not that, maybe she just wants to see where Cora was for all that time.”

They talked about alliances and treaties and the probability of Scott being able to speak for the pack in a professional way. Derek actually gave him more credit than Stiles did. They talked, and they talked, and Stiles couldn’t remember talking to Derek this much, ever. He watched Derek’s profile in the dimness, seeing his lips move. Slowly, the spaces between their sentences grew longer. Stiles closed his eyes and listened to the soft breaths huffed beside him.

 

The first thing Stiles saw was his door open, and his Dad staring at him, confused expression on his face. Stiles took stock of his surroundings. His face was mashed against something hard. Hard and warm and _moving_.

Oh god.

He felt his face heat. He snuck another glance at his dad. His dad’s brow was scrunched, but his jaw was clenched. Their gazes connected, and he pointed to Stiles, then down, then flashed all ten fingers.

Stiles blinked and dipped his head, pushing his face further into Derek’s torso. His dad stomped downstairs.

“Hey. Hey you.” Stiles poked Derek’s midsection.

“What,” Derek said, waking abruptly, and jerked away, dislodging Stiles’ clinging body. Stiles sat up and rubbed his numb arm. Derek blinked, squinting at the light streaming through the windows. His hair was still perfectly styled, but his face was a bit puffy from sleep.

“My dad just saw us, so if you want to talk to him with me, I invite you to.”

Derek scrunched up his face and glared at Stiles. “No.”

“Then I suggest you either take a really long shower or go away for like, a half hour. Maybe an hour. And you should definitely leave, actually. Best to have you out of shotgun range.”

Derek let out a long suffering sigh. He got out of bed and walked to the window, then walked back, wrapped both hands around Stiles’ head, and kissed him soundly on the lips. Then he climbed out the window, barefoot and half dressed. Stiles could only stare. A giddy lightness consumed him and he smiled, pressing his fingertips to his tingling lips.  He shook his head and made his way downstairs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Graphic depictions of major characters' deaths, panic attacks, many minor character deaths, but no actual major character deaths besides one creepy uncle. Please let me know if I should include anything else!
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it!


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